Temptation
by nemain13
Summary: A look inside the heads of Eleven as he tries very hard not to think about Amelia at all...and fails, and of Amy as she pursues what she truly wants. Spoilers for "Amy's Choice." Now rated M because...well, because.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I never felt that I could write for Ten, but after seeing the latest (US-broadcast) episode for Eleven,"Amy's Choice," this one just came to me. Several weeks have passed since the Dream Lord made his appearance. Spoilers for everything up to "Amy's Choice."

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All men are tempted. There is no man that lives that can't be broken down, provided it is the right temptation, put in the right spot.

~Henry Ward Beecher, Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit, 1887

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I.

He's keeping up a pretty good front. At least he thinks he is. At least, most of the time, most days, he's fairly certain that he probably isn't all that obvious about... He straightens his shoulders, reaches a self-conscious hand up to straighten his bowtie, as much a worry-stone and shield as ever his epic scarf was in the past, and he forces the whole thing firmly from his mind. And he's successful, too. _Mind over matter. See? Just a little Time Lord mental discipline. All that was needed. _ He smirks, starts to get back to the tricky and intricate little bit of repair work he's doing on the TARDIS. The TARDIS shocks him soundly, possibly as a cautionary reaction to his overwhelming and totally-misplaced smugness, and he drops his sonic screwdriver, watches it roll under a console, and he sighs, drops nimbly down to his hands and knees to search for it... All told, it's almost ten whole minutes before he thinks about Amelia Pond again.

II.

It's worst when he's alone, when there's no life-or-death crisis bearing down on them, when the TARDIS is just humming gently through the reaches of infinity. Sometimes he fancies that he can feel each and every one of his 907 years like individual stones pressing down on his chest one at a time in those moments of silence and stillness, like that old Puritan punishment he actually got a chance to see once when he visited the American Massachusetts Bay colony during one of its less happy times back in 1692. The times that are worst are the ones like now, when he's here in the solitude of his endless library, and the _happy couple_ is off alone together exploring...

He just stops the thought there, unable to complete it without something most unsuitable for a Lord of Time, especially for the last of the Lords of Time, the one who has to carry the banner for all of them who are gone, rising inside him. It's not for him to say or care _what _the two humans are exploring. Maybe it's just one of the gardens or the pool or some other wonder inside this world inside the tiny blue box. Maybe, though, just maybe, the world they're exploring is the infinity of each other. He tamps down a burst of something he will not dignify with a name roughly. _They are engaged, are they not? That is what mates of their species do, is it not?_

He's been making a massive effort to stay away from them when they're together. After all, it's only polite. After the encounter with his darker self, the Dream Lord, and Amy's sudden burst of love for "the nose," the two of them have been snogging in corners and holding hands and whispering in that way of the very, very young in love everywhere. It's been a bit much to take, actually. It makes him long for the days when he wore a black leather coat, called all the humans apes, and swore loudly that he "didn't do domestic." That version of himself would have booted them both out...

_Ha. Sure he would have. In case you've conveniently forgotten or rewritten the past to suit your vanity, here's a reminder. Two words for you: Mickey Smith. _

The frustrating thing was he'd seen so very clearly how much Amy was distressed by the life that Rory had planned for her, the baby, the abysmally dull village. What would happen to her if that vision created by the dream pollen did in some way (_okay mostly just the baby and the marriage without the old people turning everyone in the village into tiny piles of fine gray dust and almost certainly without the nose ever making it as a doctor)_ true? She hadn't really wanted it, hadn't wanted to give up exploring. He'd felt it right down to the core of his being. And yet, when it was all over, she'd been holding _Rory_, kissing _Rory_. Of course, he'd downplayed his own situation, shut her out deliberately when she'd asked him if he believed the things the creation of the dream pollen, the Dream Lord, had said about him were true. He'd been pushing her steadily toward Rory ever since she'd pressed her mouth to his that night in her bedroom and he'd realized first that she tasted like strawberries (_oh, strawberries! I do so love strawberries_) and second that he'd wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her back against him hard, kissing her back for long moments instead of trying to get away as was proper...

He stares down at the volume in front of him, a collection of folk tales from Caldos V he always finds relaxing and amusing, but he cannot seem to make sense of the symbols on the page tonight. Finally, he tosses the book aside fervently wishing that they were where they are going next. _Because she's not like this when they're somewhere running. _ Then, she's not off playing happy families with _him, _with the other one, with the_ nose_. When the crisis is at hand, she always turns to him, alive, vibrant, thrilled by the same things that fascinate him, totally, recklessly fearless. She's never disgusted by what she sees unless what she sees is an injustice, and he's never seen her back down from a fight yet, even when the fight is with him.

She's even been able to see things he's missed, and that's been so rare as to be almost unheard of. When she kept him from killing the Star Whale on Starship UK, he felt his whole heart swell with something so much like hope that it made his eyes fill with tears. It had been a very long time since he'd felt that... She's crept under every barrier he's thrown up. Well, actually, it's probably more accurate to say she's simply just bulled her way through them despite the fact that he's been building them as fast as he can, been being so much more careful with her than he ever was with...

He freezes, realizes the paths his mind has walked down without his permission, runs his hands through his hair until it stands up even more wildly than usual. He rises to pace the small reading area, pondering this frustrating lack of control, pondering how the hell he's come to be one of _her boys_, (_Can you even __**be**__ a boy when you're 907?_) and then stalks down the hall toward the pool determined to swim off his distraction if he can't lock it down any other way.

III.

The rhythm of swimming is calming, and the exercise helps to burn away the excess energy that crackles around him like a heavy static charge. Again and again he pushes through the water, trying to concentrate only on the movement, only on the lifting of an arm, the coordination of the breath with the timing of a kick. He's been doing this for centuries in one body or another, and he cuts through the liquid like he was born to it, turning against the wall without pause when he reaches it.

He has almost reached a point of total oneness with the water, almost purged the worst of the dangerous spillover of the ever-present darkness he carries inside him that he knows she sees glimpses of but doesn't quite believe or understand (_still wants me to be some kind of fairy-tale hero; doesn't understand that all too often, I wind up as the monster of the story instead...) _when he hears a splash at the far end of the pool. At the same time his ears are registering the sound of the entry, his telepathic mind is sighing with traitorous delight at the bright presence that now slips nearer to him, carried through the water like an electric current. He stops his lap at the far end of the pool, back still turned away from her, strong hands gripping the tiled side as if it were safety in a strong storm, head down, wet hair dripping water in front of eyes now tightly squeezed shut like a child in a bad dream.

_Go away, go away, go away, Amelia Pond. Oh, if I just close my eyes and make a wish, maybe..._

But he knows she doesn't. Knows she won't. Knows that for some reason, Rory isn't anywhere to be found, and, for once, the nose really, really so needs to be, right now. He hears the soft stirring of water as she moves through it toward where he waits, musical.

It would be so easy. So easy to glamor her, to claim her., to win the sparkling jewel that she is for his own _forever_. And he can't say there's not some part of him screaming in the back of his mind to seduce her, to fight that silly big-nosed boy with all the weapons in his arsenal, with his wit, his charm, his knowledge, with all of time and space, with beauty, with adventure, with ten lifetimes of experience to sweep her off her feet and into his waiting arms. He could do it. Even though she's chosen Rory, he sees her looking at him, more now since some weeks have passed since Rory's dream-near-death experience happened, sees that contemplative, hungry expression and that banked _something_ in her eyes, knows enough about women wherever they may be found to know what that means, what that is.

The water laps at his sides, splashes gently at his hands as she comes closer to him. He does not move. He wants so much to do the honorable thing, to do right by this woman-child who is so precious, knows that he is the Lonely God, the destroyer of worlds, the Oncoming Storm, and so he cannot ever be the right thing, the choice of comfort and safety for any woman, and yet, and yet...

_Amelia Pond. I do not want to play with you. In this time, in this me, I am not a man who plays. I am a man who yearns just-barely-secretly, who hungers under a thin mask, and who may, may just **take** if you keep giving me chances. You can't expect me to continue to be noble forever. Because, Amelia-of-the-fairy-tale-name, Amelia-of-the-flaming-hair-and-heart, Amelia of the savage soul, Mad Queen, Fearless Companion, Savior and Kiss-O-Gram, Little Girl in the Red Robe and Nightie, I know what happens all-too-well when you wait and wait. I did that once, too, y'see? You're not the only one who's ever waited... Only now, they're all gone. Gone some of them in ways that make simple death look like a mercy and a blessing. So don't keep pushing me, please, Amy. Please. Or we'll both have to live with what happens when I'm not your fairy-tale hero anymore...

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**As with all my writing, your feedback is most highly craved.**

**They're not mine, or I'd be a rich, rich woman. They all belong to the Beeb.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow! Such review goodness! I am humbled. Because you asked for more, I'm going to continue this for at least for one more chapter and see where my temperamental muse takes me. I hope you enjoy this peek into Amelia.

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Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.

~William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Women are afraid of mice and of murder, and of very little in between.

~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

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I.

She'd been napping in her room because she was tired out from working a party the night before, and then she'd heard it. It was the unmistakable noise, the noise she'd prayed for as a child, been told she'd never really ever heard at all by all those concerned adults for so many years. She'd risen, run to the window, and impossibly, there _he_ was dressed in that same old tattered and untucked shirt running frantically across her overgrown garden yelling something. For a long moment, all she'd been able to do was stare out in tingling disbelief.

Echoing hours spent on the varying upholstery of four different psychiatrist's couches had rushed up and choked off her brain's higher functions in an almost-Pavlovian reflex. She could practically hear the combined modulated, soothing, patient, and well-meaning voices of all those experts circling in her head like a flock of degree-laden harpies telling her that she was having another delusional episode, saying without, of course, _saying_ that she was "crazy Amelia Pond" again. Panic rose hot and fresh in her throat, clawed at her sharply, and, as it always did when she was made to feel afraid, anger was hot on its heels in defensive response.

_No. I will NOT be "crazy Amelia," pitiful joke of the village, **ever** again. I've worked so hard, come so far to leave all that behind me. I am Amy now, and I make my own choices. Always. So. Right. I'm stopping this right now. Remain in control, they said. Confront the hallucination, they said. That's the way through, they said. So here we go..._

She could hear footsteps pounding up her stairs, could actually hear his _voice_ now, and she was shaking a little despite her efforts to remain calm and in control. _Why does he seem so real? If he's just a delusion, why does this seem so... _She squelched the little girl voice inside mercilessly and turned from the window to look around the room at the tools at her disposal. Her eyes fell on last night's costume and the large, trusty cricket bat leaning in the corner. She shimmied into the scanty police woman's uniform hastily, grateful that she hadn't completely stripped down when she'd gotten home. She thought briefly about the smoothness of the wall her fingers grazed as she wrapped her fingers around the grip of that bat, the wall that once had a crack that scared her more than any other thing she had ever encountered in her life...

_Ha. But that was before I realized that the things you have to fear the most are the things inside..._

II.

She was standing out of breath in her garden watching that damn blue box disappear _again_. How could he do that to her? Again. He'd begged her to believe in him, and, fool that she was, she'd allowed him to make a crack in her defenses, a crack that was going to be ever-so-much-harder to fix than that one had been in her bedroom wall all those long years ago. She'd allowed herself to trust, to retrieve long-discarded Amelia from her banishment and disgrace, to begin to think that there might just be something to satisfy her long and savagely suppressed need for _magic_ and _wonder_ in this life, in this world. Something that wasn't just ruthlessly practical. Something that didn't have hard edges to it and cut her soul just a little with its square sensibility. Then bang. Just like that. Back into that blue box and fading away like a dream again right before her tear-blurred eyes. At least _this_ time there was Rory. At least this time there was _somebody_ else who'd seen it, seen him, too... She dashed away the saltwater from her eyes with the back of her hand and then reached down as the last of the sound disappeared, and she felt him jump, startled by her gesture, then she felt his hand squeeze hers in return. And if the pressure of his grip was just a little too tight for comfort, if his palm was just a little damp, well, then, that just reminded her that he wasn't going anywhere, didn't it?

III.

The night before her wedding, she knew Rory was out having his stag night with all his ridiculous friends, and she didn't begrudge him the celebration. She hadn't had one herself. To be honest, there weren't any young women in the village she felt close to, never had been. She'd always been the outsider, the odd duck, and so she'd spent the evening alone staring at that slightly-scary white dress hanging in the corner like a ghost come to chide her for her past or warn her of the future.

_God, Amy. It's not Hamlet. Get a grip, won't you?_

And yet. And still. She knew that tonight was her last night for some things. Rory was a good man and a kind man and a sweet man, but there were some things he just wasn't going to deal well with. Any mention of the Doctor, now that everybody knew that the Doctor wasn't a figment of her childhood imagination (_and let me just tell you, didn't that feel righteously and properly good_) would send him into a pouting funk complete with sullen silences and cutting comments for days. He seemed to have the stupidest notions about her comparing him to the Doctor, about her wanting him somehow _less_ than the Doctor... But that was just rubbish. And she'd told him so. Repeatedly. Heatedly. With anger. With kisses. But yet. But still.

She sighed, gave up, threw back the covers, reached under her bed as she had done all those many years ago and pulled out a battered and worn red and white suitcase. A smile traced her lips as she laid it gently on her dresser, flipped the metal latches, opened the top to peer down at the contents inside in the bright moonlight streaming down through the sheer white curtains of her bedroom. A child's fantasy of playthings greeted her, dolls made of any material she could find, drawings of increasing skill all hoarded together here. She ran a fingertip over the items, and her mind turned back to _him_.

In the secret places of her heart, those places she kept hidden and locked up as thoroughly as she did this suitcase, places she looked at just as rarely, he was there. Treasured. Adored. Kept safe. As the images held here had changed through time, so, too, had the images she held in those chambers of her heart altered, too. Some of the more recently-added images, she had to admit, would probably give Rory a heart attack, especially the luscious ones she'd garnered when her Raggedy Doctor had magnificently shed the raggedy.

Now, here, in the silent stillness of these last few minutes of the night before her wedding day, she looked from the crude carving she'd made of the little blue box on her dresser to the shimmering and somehow illogically threatening gossamer creation in white hanging on her closet door, and her heart felt confusion, yearning. But which one was it yearning for? _Which one is it that I really want?_

Suddenly, her head came up and she froze. It was just the barest whisper of sound at first, but she knew that noise, _knew it _like the sound of her own heartbeat. She was in motion before her brain had even registered the response, her hands flying to catch up a sweater from the dresser as she went, her feet stumbling over old trainers in her haste to get something, anything on them and herself out the door before he decided to disappear and leave her behind again...

IV.

Full circle now, and this circle has enclosed so very, very much. They were sitting on her bed in her room, she and the Doctor. She and her Doctor. He'd saved her from the Angels, proved himself against her fears of being left _again_. She'd felt the fear in him, the despair in him when he'd had to go. She'd also felt the need in him when he'd pressed his lips against her forehead, and despite the presence of the woman who nobody seemed to want to say was going to be his wife for some reason nobody seemed to be able to explain to her satisfaction, he'd been more concerned about her, Amelia Pond, than about the mysterious River Song. She found she liked that. In fact, she liked that rather a lot.

Full circle now, and it was time to come clean. It was time to make a choice. Really, though, was there ever truly a choice to make? As she studied him there in that professorial bowtie, those ridiculous red suspenders and that tweedy jacket with its elbow patches, all old man's clothing, all tools he was using as a shield to keep her and everybody else at a respectful distance with this young man's handsome/ugly face, this young man's strong/pretty body, she was swept with longing. She could have told him that she knew something about masks and disguises. That she understood all about keeping up appearances for the neighborhood. About being afraid of what was inside you. But tonight wasn't the time for that. Tonight was about choosing.

So she did. She told him, made the big revelation. Watched it fall flat. Annoyance flashed. _God, you're thick. How can anybody who's this brilliant be that... _And then it became endearing, the sudden naked fear in his eyes, he who was never afraid of anything, her Doctor now stammering and crawling backward across her bed. _Ah, doesn't happen to you every day, does it, Doctor? _ It made her want to lap him up like rich cream, like honey slowly drizzled on the tongue. He made her chase him, and that too made her laugh, made her purr. _But you're who I want, what I want, what I'll...have..._

When she kissed him the first time, he eluded her with a suppleness born of desperation babbling the whole time things that probably were very, very reasonable, very, very logical, but not before she felt a spark of something in him that gave her hope. _Oi, you're not getting away that easily. Come here..._

And she pinned him against the doors of his beloved TARDIS where he could not run anymore.

Her mouth took his even as he dodged, and she felt a surge of triumph as he stilled, as she felt his own instincts overrule his intellect, as she felt the hands that had been trying to push her away fold around her shoulders and grip, hold, pull her closer for those few precious moments. His lips stopped their stream of rejection and began to move with hers, tasting, and she for a flickering instant felt _hunger _to match her own, _hunger_ blazing like a shooting star, and she pressed closer wanting more, needing more, and then it was gone.

He had once again somehow slipped away in the impossibly small space between them_ (Lord of Time and Space, indeed, hmph)_, a new flow of words serving to separate them, something about needing to "get her sorted out," and she had to admit that as far as she was concerned, that sounded just _lovely_. _If you'll just come right over here, I have a few thoughts about that myself, Doctor. Gonna start by untying that bowtie with my teeth..._

And then he was shoving her in the TARDIS, staring at her like she was a time bomb that might go off in his arms, and she sighed as he herded her frantically down the ever-shifting hallways toward her room. Once she was alone, though, she licked lips that still tasted of cinnamon and some wild spice, still tasted of him.

V.

He'd gone out and tracked down Rory, shoved him at her like a panicked adult trying to placate a wailing infant in a public place by handing it a favorite toy. She hadn't missed that. Oh no. It hadn't escaped her. Nor had it escaped her that he no longer casually invaded her personal space, crowded her in that proprietary manner he'd had with her since he'd first climbed out of the capsized TARDIS, sat inappropriately close beside her on benches or at tables, touched her casually for no reason with that silly grin on his face, or stood so near her that she could lean back against him if she wanted. He was, in fact, now only running away from her and watching her _out of the corners of his eyes. _And that made her so mad she could spit. Could throw things. Had thrown things, in fact, when she was sure nobody else was around to see her indulge in that juvenile release of stress.

So that resentment had been kicking around in the back of her head some when they'd gone into the Dream Lord's twisted little world. Then she'd seen her childhood friend, her faithful companion, the man who had loved her enough to try to be whatever it was she wanted him to be cut off that ridiculous but somehow endearing ponytail that was his idea of excitement and daring and then _die_, and the Doctor had done nothing. _Nothing._ Anger grew. Oh, she'd seen the agony in his eyes, seen the frustration, the futility and the self-loathing there, and she'd understood in a split second that this wasn't the first time he'd watched one of his companions die. Hadn't others along this strange journey, hadn't the Dream Lord himself told her, warned her about this? At the time, though, kneeling beside the pile of sand that was all that was left of Rory, she hadn't cared. She'd chosen, and even though she'd known that choosing was driving a knife into him, she'd done it. She might have even been a little savagely glad about the hurting at the time. Maybe more than a little...

Now, though, weeks have passed, and she's had time to consider her choice again. Even though she realized that she loved Rory at that moment when she watched him fall to dust, as she's watched the Doctor ghost through the corridors of the TARDIS avoiding them and listened to Rory's Leadworth sensibilities, his placid dreams of a slow small village life that he is absolutely bedrock certain deep down inside they will both be returning to in due time, she knows that what he wants for the future will destroy her. He will always be a sweet boy that she does dearly love in a way, but she can't live _that_ life as _her_ life for all time. There's something else she wants. There's something else she craves. She tasted it a long time ago, the night of the crack in her wall, of prayers to Santa that were answered in the most unusual way, and now it's the only thing that will feed her soul. _Tastes a bit like freedom and adventure. Tastes like cinnamon and wild spices... _

She gets up and she begins to search for him. It's time they had a little chat.

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**If you all still like it, it will go on. Let me know.**

**They're still not mine.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: You've seen him and you've seen her. From this point forward, it might vary in POV. I'm playing around with the concept of the Doctor's telepathy in this one. Hang on. Here we go. Those of you who know me from the IPS-fandom (cough, tillygirl, cough) know how this goes...

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I would rather trust a woman's instinct than a man's reason. ~Stanley Baldwin

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I.

The little waves and ripples of water grew larger, and with them, so, too, did the strength of her presence brushing against his mind despite his discipline. It was like electric velvet fingers running up and down his spine, sensations he'd normally have needed to have been in physical contact with her to have been receiving at this strength and intimacy transmitted to him through the conductive medium of the water. It was in many ways an invasion of both their privacies, one that he knew she had to be completely unaware of. Yet he did not use the strength in these new arms, in this new body, to push out of this deep end of the pool and leave. He continued to cling to the side, waiting for whatever new hell was coming because...

_Because I don't seem to be able to stop myself from it tonight, actually. _

He sighed. Opened his eyes to focus them blankly on one of the towering potted palms sitting in the corner of the room. Waited. It wouldn't be long now.

II.

As she made her steady breaststroke lap down the pool, she watched him. He was just hanging there on the edge, staring off into space, legs circling idly keeping himself stationary.

_What's he doing, then?_

When she'd first come through the door to the pool in her search for him and seen him doing laps in that mechanical and driven fashion, it had seemed like a gift from the gods. She'd quickly ducked into one of the changing rooms nearby, stripped down, and found a likely-looking suit hanging from a nearby hook. Her lips quirked as she studied her reflection in the mirror.

_'S amazing how fast one gets used to having things just come to hand like this, isn't it? I guess you really can get used to magic if you're around it long enough..._

She knew the TARDIS was probably responsible for the presence of the suit in the proper size and also for its being a dark kelly green that flattered her coloring. The cut, while modestly one-piece, had a low plunging back and an odd cut-out that left a large portion of her abdomen bare as well. The fabric was supple, shimmery, and did not feel like anything she'd ever come across for a swimsuit before. It slid through her fingers like a combination of silk, water, and something cool, and when she put it on, she could hardly feel the suit against her body.

_Bit of a fashion designer, are you? _She thought idly, flicking back curtains in other changing rooms as she went back to the pool area to see bathing costumes ranging from men's trunks with whales to a very conservative striped suit from the 1980s to what looked very much like a suit made entirely of some kind of stitched animal hides to a very small silver Speedo (_Who'd ever have been ballsy enough to have worn that blessed thing?_) to a set of ancient bathing clothes that looked like they'd come right out of a Victorian print.

She'd dived right in, intending to catch him in the middle of a lap, engage him in conversation that would hopefully be pleasant, force him to talk to her if all else failed, but although he must have heard her enter the water, he was not reacting to her presence at all. He looked for all the world like a man lost in deep contemplation.

_Either that, or he's ignoring me..._

She gritted her teeth, dove lightly under the surface and pushed for the far wall.

III.

She'd misjudged the length of the pool she had to swim, and her lungs were burning with the need for air as she approached the end where his long pale legs slowly stirred the water. She also misjudged her distance as she closed her eyes and came up and so was rather closer to him than she'd intended. As she broke through the reflective surface, she gasped for air and flung out a hand for the edge of the pool. Her dripping fingers closed over his and as he jerked his hand away as if burned by the contact, her head slid back under for a moment. She felt strong hands reach down, slide under her arms, and lift her back above the waterline again, and there he was, looking down at her with that amused, puzzled, and faintly irritated expression on his face.

"What _are_ you trying to do, Pond? Drown? That would hardly be convenient at this juncture."

Her expression was mutinous. "_No_. I was _not_ trying to drown myself. I just...ran a bit short of air and had to come up quickly is all. _You_ were in _my_ way."

The amusement that had been faint at first became more pronounced. "Really. Is that so? Because I had the oddest impression that I was here first."

She would have crossed her arms if she could, would have tapped her foot, but those things were denied her in this aquatic medium. She settled for reaching up and pushing her sodden hair out of her face in what she hoped was a dignified and cutting manner. "That has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you were in my way..."

And he surprised her by laughing. It was a sound she hadn't heard in far too long, she realized. She watched his face transform with it, with the happiness, and she felt her temporary flash of irritation and embarrassment fade away. On the heels of her realization that she wasn't still ticked-off came the discovery that his arms were still loosely around her, looped under her own arms for support and holding on to the pool edge behind her. She'd been floating there pinned between a wet and half-naked him and the tiled wall for some time now, hadn't she?

_Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy..._

His laughter stopped, and she became aware that he was looking down at her with eyes full of questions and something that simmered hotly behind them.

"Amelia Pond," he said slowly, drawing the individual syllables out as if he relished the sound of each one, the feel of the words in his mouth, and then he reached out hesitantly and lightly, lightly brushed his fingertips across her forehead and temple, as if he were tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. She felt something like a shiver when he did that, something like a strong rolling jolt of electricity _only absolutely everywhere and somehow very, and I mean __**very**__, good_, and she grabbed his shoulders for stability. Almost instantly, she saw guilt dart through his eyes, and he murmured, "Sorry. Sorry. That was...I shouldn't have...I should probably just..."

He was going to run. She could see it. _Distract him! Stop him. _Instinctively, she knew better than to ask the question uppermost in her mind, _What the hell was __**that?**_ Also probably taboo was the one crowding its heels, _Won't you try that again so I can figure out if I liked it or not because I think I really might have? _What tumbled out of her mouth was insipid, and she hated herself for it instantly, "Doctor, can't you just...d'you think you might be able to...I mean... hold me up just a minute more, would you? I think I might've gulped down just a little bit too much water to be free floating on my own yet..."

IV.

So here she was in his arms, and she should have looked like a half-drowned kitten. But she didn't. She should have been ridiculous and pale in a swimsuit. But she wasn't.

_Oh, yes, and I'll be having words with you about giving her this bit of nothing to wear later. Don't think I haven't noticed she managed to just stumble across a Sylarian sheensuit in just the perfect shade of green to make her eyes a sylvan mystery and her hair a tumble of wet flame across my hands. You know good and well these things were made to be like having nothing on once they're wet. You could have just given her a bucket of paint, you know, and gotten the same effect._

He felt the deep, vast amusement of the TARDIS roll to him through the bond they shared. It was unmoved by his annoyance, too used to the caprices of his humors to worry much now, saw things on an even vaster scale than he did himself as a Time Lord, and it found humor wherever in eternity it liked. He had long ago learned to take her little practical jokes and temperamental outbursts in stride, but he had the subtle feeling now that he was being plotted against by the ancient heart of his own time machine, and he didn't much care for it. Again, like the tolling of a bell too deep to be heard, a reverberation only felt, came the sensation of her laughter against his mind.

He had resolutely refused to look down, but it wasn't really necessary for him to. He'd already seen her once as she'd emerged from the water, and mythologies, names of water goddesses had crowded into his head so quickly that he'd been dumbstruck as she'd collided with him. He'd been backpedaling, trying to avoid physical contact in an environment that was already conducting too much of her to him, was already allowing her mind to batter at his mental shielding when she'd brushed her fingers across his hand, and he'd wanted to groan, to growl, to drag her out of the water, to have her right here where she was as he got images of her seeking him through the ship, of her desire for him, fragmented as those images were. That added to the sheensuit's ...definition of her attributes, the ones it was covering anyway...were simply more temptation than he'd bargained for when he'd stayed.

He'd tried to push her away with sarcasm. It had always worked on the traveling companions before. He'd kept countless numbers of them at bay with the sharp edges of his witty and sometimes brutal tongue. It didn't work with Amelia Pond, though. She simply cocked her head, narrowed her eyes, and proceeded to skewer him in a voice that flowed with a Scottish cadence. And he laughed in delight at her defiance.

_Parry and thrust. It's like fencing. I have always loved fencing. Wonderful sport. Very fine. I need to teach it to Amelia. I think she'd be excellent at it, really. Wish I hadn't said thrust just now, though, not even in my head, especially since she's just started thinking about... Oh, Amelia. Don't take your thoughts there, please... Damn. _

And he sighed. His arms were around her body supporting her and they were very close together. Water surrounded them both. He could almost taste the desire of her (_strawberries again, wonder if she tastes like that all over, wonder if..._) like a tangible thing, like something that curled around him, like something he was absorbing through his skin.

He looked down into those green eyes, and he saw her pupils respond to something she was seeing in his own. _What do you see, Amelia Pond? Does it scare you? It should. You should be afraid. Oh so very afraid. Because I want to gobble you up in one greedy bite like the monster in the fairy tale. Because I'm not going to be able to stop myself from doing just this..._ And he'd lifted a hand from the pool decking to caress her forehead starting in the middle of her brow, brought his fingers across and down over her temple, softly, gently, barely touching, forcing himself to keep the contact feather-light, finished by tucking her hair behind her ear, traced the delicate whorls of the outer shell of it. He watched the path of his hand, and he shook slightly with the effort it took to keep his touch barely there. His eyes cut to hers, watched her shocked response as she felt the superficial connection he'd created shimmer through her before it faded.

He felt absurdly pleased with her gasp-and-shudder response, not to mention the corresponding sensations in himself. _Ha. Let's see the nose pull that trick out of his bag. You don't get to be 907 without learning something useful, I guess. _Instantly, shame struck. _Oh, Pond. Oh no. And so the fairy-tale hero isn't much of a hero after all, is he? Reckon he's more the beast in the shadows waiting to pounce. I need to get away, I need to just get out and get away from here..._

V.

"Pond, I need to go. You need to let go of my...my person...and let me get out of this pool right now."

"Why?"

"This isn't...this is... What you're doing...It's a bad idea."

"What am I doing, then?" Challenge in her voice.

"A-_me_-lia." Irritation and something charged in his.

"Okay. If I were doing something, which I'm not admitting that I am _necessarily_, why would it have to be such a bad idea?" She ran a hand up his chest to his neck, casually. He firmly took it in his own, placed it back in the water.

"Because you'd be biting off more than you can chew, Amy."

"Oh, Doctor..." Flirty smile through lowered lashes hung with liquid diamonds of pool water.

"Don't be flip. I'm not being cute. This isn't double-entendre or pillow talk. I'm trying to warn you for your own good and you just keep _not listening_!"

"Look. You've been warning me off practically since we met, and I'm sorry, but I just don't believe it, alright? I don't believe you're this big, bad wolf who's going to gobble me up." Sassy, challenging smirk on those strawberry lips. Fingers creeping back up toward his neck again.

"Amy. Please. Don't." His eyes slide closed. He can't keep his shields up. They're crumbling, and all of her, all her desire, her need, the images she has of the two of them and what she'd like to do to him, with him, for him, are sliding into his mind like the lewdest kiss, the crudest dirty talk ever conceived...

"Oooh, or what, Mr. Grumpy Wolf? Are you going to get me? Gobble me up like...like..I was Little Red Riding Hood? Should I be scared?"

And he opens his eyes again, and she has to swallow hard at what she sees there. His hands leave the tile pool decking and come to rest on the bare skin of her back. She cannot stop the shiver that flashes lightning quick up her spine.

"Yes. Yes. And yes."

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**Review? You know I love you, right? **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Your continued positive reception of this bit of whimsy makes me so happy. Here's another chapter for your delectation. I may not be able to update as quickly as I have been after this one, but I will try to keep them coming as fast as I can. They're still in the pool...

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**A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years. ~Rupert Brooke

When I kiss you, I can taste your soul. ~Carrie Latet

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I.

He watches the pulse in her neck pick up and enjoys the little bit of unsteadiness in her breathing that accompanied it. Her hands rest on his shoulders for support, and suddenly, he uses his greater height to push away from the wall, pulling her along with him, turning them so she now has a choice to make, keep holding on to him and let her head go under water periodically or let go and support herself by treading water. He locks his eyes to hers, and he smiles a little, just a little. There is a challenge in it.

But she's not one to back down, not one to give up so easily, and she doesn't release him. Instead, she gives him a little considering glance of her own, head tilting sideways slightly, and then _Rassilon help him_, she dips her head back into the water to clear her hair from her face and not only moves closer, she _clings to him, wraps around him sinuously like some exotic flowering vine, _arms tightening around his neck, legs slipping up to circle his waist, forcing him to keep them both afloat or be dragged down with her. Her face is so close to his now that he can feel the wash of her breath across his lips. She grins, and he sees excitement in her gaze, adrenaline, triumph, and desire. Her fingertips tease wet brown locks idly.

_Ah, Pond. Good move. Good move that. Extremely effective both physically and as a point of argumentation. _He can feel her long legs wrapped around him, and even though the pool's temperature is somewhat cool, it isn't going to be enough to counteract this...

He continues to maneuver them in a lazy orbit with the motions of his strong legs, working to keep them both above the surface of the water. He's stronger than he looks, something most people forget, so this isn't really that much of a strain for him. He has a destination in mind, but as with everything in life, the getting there is the fun.

"Thought there was supposed to be some gobbling going on, something...scary," she murmurs, saucy, bold as brass. "I was, in fact, threatened with a wolf." Her pink tongue flickers out to wet her lips, and his eyes are drawn there as if magnetized.

_Yes, Amelia. Don't worry. I have a crystal-clear picture of exactly what you thought would be going on by now. _His mouth quirks, and he shakes his head a little. His hands on her bare back circle, stroke gently, and she feels that little echo of that rippling tingling sensation again.

"Want scary, do you, Amelia? Want a little thrill? What a proper little adrenaline junkie you're turning into."

His voice is husky, pitched low, and she can feel the reverberation of it through her. That's how closely she's pressed against him. She realizes with a start that his voice isn't all she feels as she's wrapped around him, and the smile that appears now is feline, predatory, pleased, hungry. She wiggles against him subtly just for the pleasure of the sensation. He shows her his teeth briefly, but it's not in amusement.

"Ah, _there's_ the wee wolfie, then. Been waiting on you. Shall I tell you what big eyes you have? Isn't that usually how this starts out?"

He laughs, a short, dangerous-sounding bark, and she feels her back hit the corner of the pool. There is a seat here built in, and her derrière slides onto it perfectly, and somewhere down below, a ledge that he is now standing on. Suddenly she feels just a tiny little bit cornered after all as he places his hands on the tiles to either side of her.

"Nah. Let's just skip right to the main event, shall we?" He's studying her face intently.

"The m-m-main event?" She cannot stop glancing down at his mouth. It's so close to hers and she wants it on her own, wants that _taste_ of him again and...

"Yeah. The most important question in the story. Come on, Pond. You know which one I mean."

Her brain isn't working though. He's too close and her legs are still wrapped around his waist. _And I mean come on, who the bloody hell wants to think about fairy tales with **that** entertainment available? Doctor, please..._ And yet, he's waiting, looking down at her, so it seems some response is expected.

"I'm afraid I'm coming up dry on that one, Doctor..."

Then he does it. He leans down and pauses, breath fanning her neck and ear for mind-altering seconds before saying it, "Oh, I rather doubt _that_, Ms. Pond..."

And she just can't stand it any more. Not the smell of him, the feel of him, the unexpected tease of him._ Gonna be a tease? Oh no, well, then he's just asking for it, isn't he? _She looks him right in the eyes, takes in the satisfied smirk, and slips her hands into his hair to tug him forward into the kiss.

II.

He lets her take the lead for a few moments, lets her press their mouths together in a clash of frustration and want, but he doesn't open for her. _Not yet. Not yet. Because wolves are patient predators, actually. Know how to circle prey around, get it all confused, make it do what they want it to, don't they?_

Her hands are on his shoulders now, tugging, pulling, wanting him closer, and he obliges, shuffling in that little tiny step allowed on the ledge and she squirms forward on the seat as if she's trying to climb up him. He can't stop the smile as he feels her red nails curve into his shoulders lightly. _Little cat, little feline Amelia. Better be careful with that._

She nips at his bottom lip, trying to make him do what she wants, trying to make him give her more than the press of mouth to mouth, and he strikes. One of his hands streaks up and into her hair, twists gently there, tugs, pulls back, and her eyes meet his, full of desire and irritation at the restraint. He brings the index finger of his other hand up and he traces the outline of her lips very slowly, allowing a connection to begin to form. At that contact, she feels that shimmering sensation again and her mouth opens on a gasp, her body arching against his, her hands tugging insistently.

_Now it's time to take. Now. _

He lowers his mouth to hers as he instinctively slides his fingertips up to cradle her face in such a way that he can stroke her temple in tiny, slow rhythmic circles. He slips his tongue in to taste the flavor he's forbidden himself for all this time (_I was right, strawberries, glorious great ripes ones, summer ones, the kind you never can find but always long for, dream of...)_ and feast on her. As he feels the link he's creating begin to strengthen, the beauty of Amelia begins to radiate through him, and he sighs, changes the angle of the kiss so he can taste more, drink deeper.

III.

She's lying against him, and she can feel the rhythm of his two hearts thrumming there like the beat of a drum. It only adds to the wonder that's building inside her. His kisses are... She realizes that there are simply no words. The urgency and rush she'd started with are gone, and now she's hanging here in this place he's creating on strings of starfire that brush against her with every pass of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue against her own. The hand he twisted into her hair relaxes, slides down to her neck, her collarbone, and she feels his thumb sweep over her pulse there gently.

_If this is what it's like to have the Big Bad Wolf eat you all up, no wonder that silly little girl went into the woods by all by herself. God, this is the bit of that story they don't tell you about, _her brain muses hazily, and she feels him chuckle against her lips.

*_But Pond, I haven't even **started **to devour you yet. Maybe you'd better reserve judgment for just a bit longer, anyway, you know, just until you actually have a sample of my work for comparison purposes...*_

And it suddenly occurs to her that his mouth is very much engaged in something that precludes his ability to fling witty banter at her. A frown furrows her brow, and she pushes at him, gently at first, but then with some force as it seems he doesn't want to notice her delicate inquiry.

He pulls away with an expression that manages to be slightly chagrined, totally defiant, and rather seductive at the same time on his face. "Yes?"

_Nobody but him could pull that expression off, _she thinks to herself. _Nevertheless..._

"Just what, may I ask," she murmurs in a dulcet tone that starts to set him at ease, starts to have his hands rubbing enticingly on her back again, before continuing in a voice that just gets louder and more panicked with every word, "what, were you _doing inside my bloody head_?"

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**If you enjoyed it, why not tell me?**

**They're not mine.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Have I mentioned lately how much your reviews are making me absolutely giggle and grin? Love that you're loving this. It's great fun to write. Here's another slice. (No, IPS-folk. Sorry. Not pie. Not _yet_...*_snicker_*) I'm sorry about the long delay in updating. I have been out of town and unable to update for the last ten days. Hopefully, the updates will be a bit quicker. You may see the rating on this one bumping up sometime very soon, btw. I hope nobody will be too upset about that.**

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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made  
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.  
~William Shakespeare

Women get the last word in every argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

~Author Unknown

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I.

He stiffened as the energy sizzled through him and then he sighed. "Okay. So it was a bit of tactical error, that," he conceded to the console of the TARDIS that was only inches above his face. The Doctor was flat on his back staring up at the underside of a panel working. He'd been grumbling all morning, flinging and slamming bits of her around just a bit harder than necessary, and she'd finally had enough, sending a jolt down his arm strong enough to leave it numb and tingling for a few moments.

He wasn't however talking about the part he'd been forcing back into its proper space inside the TARDIS's circuitry as the error he'd made though, and both he and the listening time machine knew it.

"She bloody well shoved me, yelled like a fury, turned around, and clambered up over the side of that pool, pretty as you please! Without waiting for me to explain even! And it's not like I haven't tried..."

She'd been looking at him with those huge green eyes, and all the desire had gone out of them, leaving them huge still, but with fear instead. The sensations he'd gotten from her mind had been fragmented, little jagged shards of ice, reflections of something seen in a shattered mirror, and he needed time to unravel just exactly why she'd responded with such fear. Hadn't he had this contact with her before when Prisoner Zero had been in her head? Why was she looking at him like _he_ was a monster now? He'd been trying to formulate some kind of explanation, still battling the images and sensations that were flowing over him in her fear and confusion, still struggling to get some kind of barrier back in place when she'd shoved him hard away from her yelling something about playthings and privacy and then climbed out of the pool to flee. He'd tried to follow once he could get his bearings, both mental and physical, back, but she hadn't been anywhere he'd looked, and he eventually decided that was statement enough and decided to give her a bit of time to calm down before trying to explain.

He'd gone looking for her again in a fit of contrition that first evening after she'd taken off, wanting to explain what had happened, wanting to apologize for mucking about in her head uninvited. He'd rehearsed it in his head for hours, and he thought he had it down pretty well, actually. He would tell her that despite the considerable provocation he'd been given, he had to admit it _had_ been rude especially since she was of a species that didn't exactly...er...play by _all_ the same rules of engagement...as his did when it came to romantic matters, and so he'd wanted very much to try to explain if for no other reason that to _get that crucifying and betrayed look out of her eyes_.

It had now been two days since Amy had so much as talked to him. She'd been avoiding him like he was carrying some variant of the Tygellian plague, looking at him with that mixture of fury and fear that he found brought out his own savage temper, made him feel guilty and therefore made him want to grab her and shake her and call her a silly child. The one time he'd actually been able to find her was in the TARDIS kitchen this morning, and she'd very pointedly gotten up, placed her dishes in the sink, and stalked off.

"Just got right out of the water and took off," he muttered. "Yelled some nasty things at me before she went, too." His mood blackened.

The TARDIS nudged him mentally, reminding him that he had, for several minutes at least, just stood there on the little pool ledge looking quite guilty and saying not much of anything as he fumbled for an explanation and Amelia's worry and anger had grown to impossible levels before the mighty push had occurred...

"Well...yeah...okay...right, but..." He was sure there was a comeback to that, somewhere... He frowned, felt around on the floor beside him for his dropped sonic screwdriver, wrapped his fingers around it as sensation and control returned to that hand.

"Does she really think I'd do something to her that was _wrong_? Does she really not trust me at all? Why would that be? When have I ever been less than trustworthy toward her?"

The TARDIS flashed brief images up for his view: child Amy in a soft red jumper and a knit hat perched sleepily on a suitcase waiting in an empty, cold, midnight garden, waiting for a man in a blue box to keep a promise. And waiting. And waiting... Next up was an Amy he'd never seen, an Amy the TARDIS was pulling up from the wells of infinity itself or maybe from Amy's own recollections to show him, an Amy on a brown and green plaid couch, arms stubbornly crossed, tears of fury running down her face, resolutely refusing to look at the flustered man in the chair opposite her as he tried to keep his tone professional, tried to convince her that there was no such person as the Raggedy Doctor once again before he gave up and reached for his prescription pad to "fix her delusions" with the power of pharmacology. Then it was a much older Amy with the same girl-child eyes in that same garden watching the man who asked her to trust him, who broke down her hard-won and long-cherished walls of self-protection with a careless sort of effortless glee once again stepping out on her without even a backwards glance.

The Doctor squeezed his eyes closed against the images that kept coming in a ruthless mental slideshow, and he brought his hands up in the tight space to cover his face, slipped them upwards to pull at his hair as a sliver of Amy's pain and confusion became his own. When the TARDIS was done with him, he opened his eyes.

"Right. Got it. I'm an ass of the first and highest water. Message received. Reckon you'll quit hiding her and let me go talk to her now?"

The TARDIS hummed softly, a relay clicking gently. As he slid out of the access panel, he felt the deep satisfaction of his time machine and companion echoing through him.

II.

Amy just didn't want to see him. Didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want to deal with it. Wasn't going to deal with it. _It was fine. Everything was fine._ As long as he stayed away from her. Which he was doing. Or she was doing. Or was happening on its own. Or something. _So it was fine. Everything was fine. Right?_

Rory had found her sitting and staring off into space, thinking hard with a dismal expression and clumsily patted her on the shoulder, and she almost took his head off for it. He had looked at her with the wounded eyes of a spaniel, and although she hated herself for the verbal attack, she took only minimal time to murmur a hasty apology before she fled him. She could feel his eyes following her mournfully, but she really, really just refused to deal with that whole issue right now...

She dipped into the kitchen briefly, stopping just long enough to grab something to snack on, and then she headed down the long corridors to the place she'd made her refuge. She didn't know exactly where it was in relation to the rest of everything else in the TARDIS; that was a question she'd long ago stopped asking. She could find this room, though, now, whenever she needed a place to hide, and it seemed as though the distances were shorter every time. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Rory hadn't followed her, placed her hand against the door, and pushed her way inside.

The room was a long large rectangle. It had rich wood-paneled walls and a curving arched ceiling. Small warmly-glowing lamps lit the dark corners and cast a golden light over everything. The furniture looked antique but was also supremely comfortable and inviting. There were couches large enough to stretch out on full-length, and indeed, she had done so the past two nights, sleeping under a warm woven blanket of cherry-red she'd found folded across the back of one of the wingback chairs instead of going to her rooms and risking dealing with Rory or the Doctor.

Like so many things on the TARDIS, there were bits of it that didn't make any sense at all. Set into three of the room's four walls, quite irrationally, were elaborate stained-glass windows depicting fantastical and very elaborate scenes from stories she didn't know. Some source of light streamed through them as though it were full-day outside somehow, and the afternoon sun was coming through to bring life to the jewel colors of the glass. Everywhere in the room, too, were books. It seemed to be some sort of reading room as best she could tell. Some of the books she could read and others were a fantastic puzzle with writings in them that she could only trace a finger across and wonder at the strangeness of. There was even a fireplace with a flickering greenish blaze that always sprang up whenever she entered the room from coals that always seemed banked and ready. Over the mantel, there was a giant clock, but it didn't seem to tell time in any way she could understand. It had four hands, one of which spun backwards, and a dial with two smiling moons and a sun on it. She only ever saw the sun when the light from the stained-glass windows was gone. The clock did not tick, hum, or make any noise that she could hear at all. It was eerily silent for so large a thing. She had stopped questioning the mechanics of the windows, the clock, and the green fire quite soon after finding this wondrous little pocket of peace. It was, after all, the TARDIS, wasn't it?

She now crossed boldly over to the chair she'd chosen as her favorite with a sigh, preparing for an afternoon of reading. She'd found a set of stories she rather liked, what was apparently a collection of fairy tales from some world or other, and she was enjoying them quite a lot. There were fairy kings and queens, winged princes and princesses with magic powers. She settled in the chair, grabbed the cherry-red blanket and drew it up around her. It was always just cool enough in this room to make such things comforting and cozy. She took up the big book and began turning pages. The soothing sound of the crackling green flames and the warmth of the blanket combined to make her drowsy, and it wasn't very long before the heavy volume slipped from her fingers to the thick rug with a muffled thump as her eyes slid closed and she began to dream.

III.

The Doctor was trailing down yet another corridor. He'd been walking for some time now, letting her lead him where she would.

_Is it going to be sometime today, then_? _Or ought I to have packed a lunch?_ He couldn't keep the slightest touch of sarcasm out of his tone. He knew his ship well enough to know that she could have made the route instantaneous if she'd wished. She was doing this on purpose, and they both knew it.

_What is it you want from me before you're going to let me find her? Why don't you just get it out of the way, then, and let's get on with it?_

He rounded a corner only to see a dead-end in front of him. He felt frustration well up inside him. The TARDIS made no response.

_Look. This won't do, okay? I'll just go back to the control room and sit there until she comes out. Probably what I should have done anyway. If you're going to fight me, too, there's just no point._

He turned, started to stalk back up the corridor when a branching that he hadn't noticed before caught his attention. He glanced at it, paused briefly.

_Another goose-chase, then? No. I'm tired of this. I've no idea what's down that hall, and the way you're going, it's probably only more **hall,** so..._

And yet.

There was something down there teasingly calling to him, something half-forgotten, something like the half-caught scent of a favorite fragrance that drifted on the wind...

He stood a moment longer, looked down the hallway he knew, could map in his mind, would lead him back to the TARDIS control room. He'd been looking for hours, and he was no longer in a conciliatory mood to say the least.

And yet.

_Damn._

He headed down the corridor toward that tiny singing twinge in his mind.

IV.

He pushed the door open gently and stuck his head around the casing to peer inside curiously. That little musical tickle had become a call that was impossible to ignore, and he'd followed the siren song of it along these forgotten hallways to this portal. Somewhere behind this door was Amelia Pond.

When nothing was thrown at him, he sidled into the room cautiously.

_Oh, of course. You softie. You would bring her here. Haven't let anybody in here in, what, over a hundred years? None of the companions. And you even started hiding it from me after awhile. And you accuse me of playing favorites._

The TARDIS's amusement rolled over him again, slow, vast, gentle. The flames in the fireplace flickered blue in their heart with it, but otherwise, nothing changed.

He saw her at once. She was curled into the big chair like a sleeping cat, face pressed against its high wing side. The book she'd been reading lay open on the floor where it had slipped from her still-dangling hand, its weight too much to bear as sleep had overtaken her. She had burrowed under the soft red woven blanket until only the curve of her cheek, the bloom of her mouth, and the spill of her hair could be seen, a study in shades of warmth. He took a moment just to drink in the sight of her like that, allowing himself the pleasure of committing it to memory, of taking one good moment selfishly and hoarding it.

He quietly paced forward, leaned down to pick up the book she'd dropped and began to leaf through it. He sprawled on a handy couch where he could see her face so he would know the moment she was awake. He watched her sleep for another few moments, then he sighed softly, returning his attention to the volume in his hands.

_What the hell is she doing reading the history of the Rishell Empire? Bloody boring stuff, this. I can see how it would put her to sleep. _ He shrugged his shoulders and tried to figure out what she'd found interesting enough about it not to toss aside immediately.

V.

She was with him. They were surrounded by water. She could not touch the bottom no matter how much she strained downwards with her toes in the warm swirling wetness. The entire world was shades of blue. Even the air was blue, somehow, shimmery, a silver blue that glowed softly, like the last light of the evening before the moon appears. He was the only thing she had to hold on to in this vast world of liquid. The water's temperature was very comfortable, and she supposed, in that way of the logic of dreams, that was why she had chosen to put on no suit for this little swim. However, if the water itself wasn't warm enough by itself to keep her from feeling chill, then there was always the heat she felt coming from the man she was pressed against. She felt his fingers slide into her hair, and she tilted her head back for him, waiting for his kiss, hungering for it.

_Doctor._

His name left her lips in a whisper. A prayer. A plea.

He smiled, and his mouth met hers. Gently, a brush, a whisper in return for her own. It was a taste of sweetness, but not what she wanted, needed, not what would keep her alive, afloat in this world of water and instability. He had to give her more, had to satiate this growing craving, or she felt as if she would die...

_Doctor._

She didn't know if she said his name again or if it only echoed through the corridors of her mind, but she felt his response all the same. She felt that spring of desire tightening inside him, winding with a steady twist, felt his tongue flicker inquiringly at the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth with a little sound of need to let him in, let him slide the rough velvet of it against her own.

She wrapped her legs around his waist again, felt one strong hand slide down her back in a long firm stroke to pull her against him, hold her there hard, and her head fell back when she felt his lips finally leave her mouth after a timeless time, begin to nibble down the column of her neck, find all the sensitive little spots there. His other hand still cupped her face, his fingers gently caressing her, and she rubbed her face into the sensitive digits like a cat being stroked. He growled gently against her neck, and she felt his teeth lightly nip the tendon where neck and shoulder join.

_Doctor._

Urgency now, and she was wriggling against him, alive in his arms trying to communicate her desires, but he would not be hurried, would not be rushed, continued to kiss her, his mouth now moving across her collarbone, tiny delicate kisses, almost chastely given, and her breath now coming irregularly, hard, as she felt his hand slide up and around her side, begin to slide up her ribcage, fingers walking with wicked, teasing slowness...

_Doctor, please._

_Amelia? Amelia. Amelia! You have to wake up now. Right now. Come on. Stop that! Oh, nothing but trouble going to come from all **that**. Come now, wake up! _

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the Doctor's face, pupils dark, faint flush along the cheekbones, right above her own. Somehow now, the water was gone. His hands were on her shoulders, gripping gently. She did not even hesitate. She slid her fingers up into his hair and pulled herself up to press her mouth to his own, trying desperately to have the thing she wanted to satisfy this overwhelming craving.

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**Aaaannnddd review, please.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm officially moving the rating up with this chapter just to be safe. Almost everything I write winds up as "M," and I tend to think in those terms, I guess, when I write. I'm afraid I'm going to cross that "T" line accidentally and offend somebody who's not looking for that. To use a cliché, better safe than sorry.

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**

The same passions in man and woman nonetheless differ in tempo; hence man and woman do not cease misunderstanding one another.

~Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

* * *

I.

The Doctor hadn't intended to fall asleep, but the Rishellians had just been so mindnumbingly _boring_ with their pompous, and, he was forced to say, _inaccurate_ recording of their past, all elevated diction and glossy prose. He'd been to Rishell during their "High Empire" phase, and he knew for a fact that it wasn't all dancing ladies in shimmering gossamer gowns and lords seeking to do gallant deeds to win them. He remembered all too well the ragged, starving serfs outside the shining walls of the overlords' palaces, scraping the diamond soils under the light of the three-colored moons with hand tools to harvest the fist-sized golden-yellow melons the overlords called Children of the Moon which they ate as a summer delicacy and used to distill a liquor strong enough to make even a Time Lord intoxicated.

He wasn't sure just when the fatigue of the past few days had caught up with him. He didn't need sleep in the same way his human companions did, could go much longer without it, but in this warm and cozy place it seemed to envelope him like a haze. One minute, he'd been scoffing at the exaggerated escapades of a Rishellian High Lord and the next thing he'd been aware of was the rush of her dream flowing over him.

Unlike her, he'd known it for what it was, the world of her unconscious desires. That didn't make it any easier for him to deal with, really, as he saw what she was desiring painted for him on the canvas of her dreaming mind. In fact, somehow knowing that what he was seeing was the naked truth of her inner longings woke that within him that was hungry and savage for her, and suddenly he was fighting on two fronts, both the seductive satin-fingered tug of her mind and the wild-creature-baying-in-the-night demands of his own need.

He pushed his mind toward consciousness, but his body was rebelling, sabotaging his efforts to awaken. A devious, subversive little voice whispered in his ear that he could almost taste the strawberry nectar of her mouth, almost feel the glide of that satin skin under his palms, and _if he would just cooperate a bit longer, what harm would it do? _The dream Amelia purred under his kisses, sighed under the caresses of his hands. She was so warm, so responsive. _You can have her here, have her any way you want, have her all the ways she wants, just relax..._

_Mental Voyeur. Peeping Time Lord. Look what you're doing. This is beneath even you._ He felt disgust at his own darkness give him the strength to pull out of the tidal pull of the weave of her dreaming. His eyes sprang open, and he rose from the couch panting slightly both with the effort required to pull himself free and from the sensations of it still fluttering through him.

_Got to wake her up...got to...got to make her stop, or...or..._

He put trembling hands on her shoulders, hands that wanted to wander, to pull her to him. He forced his will into submission, slammed down the barriers of his mind against the insidious tantalization of her dream, and shook her lightly in an effort to wake her.

When her eyes opened, fathomless as green moonlit seas, he sighed, knowing what was coming even before her hands slid into his hair but suddenly powerless in any way to stop it.

II.

She kept holding on to him, kept hungrily devouring his mouth, kept making the same little hungry, sexy sound every time she took a breath that was making him just slightly mad. He had tried, at first, to push her away, but she wasn't having any of that. She'd just clung tenaciously to him, voraciously kissed him, and he'd felt the will to be noble simply evaporate like mist in the morning sun.

_He's here, and I don't know why, and I don't care, and it's good, and I want I want I want I want... _He could hear the thought cycle through her mind dreamily but intensely, like lightning flashing from cloud to cloud before striking down to earth.

He slipped his hands down to her waist, lifted, stood, pulled her with him. It was awkward to keep leaning over her like this in the chair, and if they were going to keep doing this, then they might as well be comfortable...

She sighed as he shuffled backwards toward the couch, sat down with her draped across him. She pushed him back slightly, slipped one knee across his lap, and before he knew it, she was pinning him against the back of the couch, pursuing his kisses, hands tugging lightly at his hair. When her thumb grazed the sensitive spot near his temple, that place where lovers placed their hands to make bonds, he groaned, hips flexing, unable to help himself. She smiled against his mouth, brought her fingers back up to explore questioningly, stroking lightly. Two delicate passes of her fingers across that zone were all he could stand even though she didn't have the skill to forge a mental connection between them, and he rolled her gently under him, kissed her deeply, desperately, putting all the need she'd raised into that kiss, pinning her tormenting hands above her head. Then he pulled away, looked at her. She lay beneath him, berry-red mouth swollen and open, eyes almost closed, hands clenched into fists, breathing hard and fast.

_Amelia Pond. On at least thirteen planets I know of, they'd make you a goddess, carve you ninety feet high in stone, sacrifice each other in your name if they could see you like this. _

He couldn't resist dropping his head and pressing his lips gently to the pulse that throbbed in her neck, inhaling the scent of her there, all wild pheromones and heat and that scent that was just her. She rolled her head to the side to allow him better access, pulling against the restraint of his hands, but he didn't let her go.

_But this is enough, _he thought with regret, logic and order somehow shoving their way rudely through the chaos of desire spinning through his mind and body. _I owe you an explanation for some things, need to let you know what you're in for if we keep going down this particular road, need to make you understand so you can run away, especially if you're going to keep doing things like that..._ He grunted as she arched her hips insistently against him, and he used his weight to pin her down more effectively.

"Pond," he murmured. "Come on. We need to chat."

"No. Kiss me, Doctor," she whispered, leaning up to capture his mouth again.

He eluded her. "Pond. You're angry with me. Remember? Really and truly furious." His tone was gentle, coaxing, but as he looked down at her, he found that he needed to brush his lips across hers again lightly. The sheen on her bottom lip had been too enticing.

Her eyes were open now, and she was stilling in his arms. A part of him, that dark needy part that he was so careful to keep kenneled, chained, hidden, and controlled, howled in regret, in fury at the missed opportunity. He staunchly ignored it, continued to hold her gently, watch awareness return to her gaze, watched it narrow slightly.

"Ah-ha! There she is. Hello, Pond!" He gave her a cheeky grin, tightened his grip on her right wrist just in time to keep her from slapping his face.

"No, none of that. Come on now. We need to talk about a couple of things, and really, I think this is the perfect time, don't you?"

"Get yourself off me," she hissed.

He thought about it a moment. "No. No, Pond. I don't think so."

"What? I said move!" She bucked her body under his to no avail. He was simply stronger than she and larger and not inclined to let her up.

"And I said no. See how this works?" He grinned down at her as if he had discovered something brilliant that he was sharing for the first time.

She ground her teeth. He could actually hear the enamel grating together as she struggled for mastery of her formidable temper.

"Okay. Would you care to tell me _why_ you're pinning me to the couch like a ton of sodding bricks then?" she asked in a tone that was absolutely saccharine.

"Because we need to talk, and if I let you up, I know exactly what you'll do. You'll scamper off into some other dusty corner of the TARDIS and I won't see you for days, and this situation will just continue to deteriorate."

She turned her head away, glaring at low-burning green flames of the fireplace, unmoved. Her body under his was rigid, stiff as if it was forged from wrought-iron.

"And...and...I have... missed you the last two days, Pond."

Something in her softened. She tilted her face to meet his gaze, but said nothing. There was still something measuring, something cautious there. It was the look of a person who had been made too many promises that hadn't been kept... It was another scar he'd carry. He felt it cut across his heart with razor precision.

"Please, Amelia." It was a whisper. He slowly uncurled his fingers from around her wrists, sat back. Either she would stay or she wouldn't. What right did he have to force her this way? Wasn't it just another injustice?

He moved to sit against the arm of the couch, looked down at his hands as if there were some answers for all of it there. He waited. Waited to hear her go. Waited for her to yell. Waited.

She simply lay where she was, staring up at the curving arch of the ceiling. The colors of the stained-glass dappled her face oddly. Then she put one hand over her eyes as if to block it all out, the light falling on her, what had just happened, the sight of him, the conversation at hand, all of it. The only sound in the room was the soft hiss and snap of the green flames in the fireplace.

Finally, just when he would have risen to go, when he had decided that she was not going to speak to him at all, her voice came to him, soft, husky.

"I expect straight answers to my questions."

"Right. I know that. And...you're entitled. If I can tell you, I will."

"None of this 'Trust me, Pond," stuff where you give me half the truth and leave me to fumble around in the dark like a rat in a maze?"

Another little laceration. He took it as his due. He shook his head. "No." His voice was subdued. "No, Amelia. Not this time. Ask. Ask, and I'll tell you. I can't promise you'll very much like the answers, though."

"So... you _are..._ in my head... sometimes, then? I'm not imagining that?"

He smiled, painful, brief, a flash and then it was gone. "'Fraid so." A pause. "Yes." Another, slightly longer. "Have been once or twice now... Sorry." And he prepared for her to be angry, to rail, to scream, to leave. His wove his long fingers together in an effort to still them.

She did none of those things, though. She sat up, slid to the opposite end of the couch and leaned back in a pose that mimicked his own. A cushion's worth or so of space, an upholstered no-man's land, lay between them. He felt it most acutely. Her face was impassive, and her mind was shuttered to him, cold and closed.

"So tell me how and why, then," she said in a voice that was carefully neutral.

He studied the tiny little pattern in the blue fabric of the couch as he began to pick his words. He had his chance to explain. Now if he could just find a way to do it and not mess things up...

* * *

**More to come and soon, barring the unforeseen.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here we go. The big explanation. This chapter is LONG. I hope he and I manage not to screw it up... Let me know what you think when you're done. There will be no reminder at the bottom for a review this time.  
**

**As a side note, I may be deviating quite a bit from established canon says about what the Doctor's/Time Lord telepathy can and cannot do, is and is not, because, to be quite frank, this is my fanfic and I have a plan for it. If it thee offends, I do apologize, but it's not going to be changing. Hope that's not a problem for you. (You know I love you, right?) :)

* * *

**

Pain of mind is worse than pain of body.

~Latin Proverb

The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind.

~Katherine Mansfield

* * *

I.

He glanced at her, then back down at his hands. He'd rehearsed this, recited bits of it to the various components of the TARDIS, felt prepared, but now that she was sitting there so still, waiting, he felt suddenly unready.

_She looks like a judge, like the jury and the executioner, too, for that matter. Never mind the fact that she's a mere slip of a human woman-girl, so new she practically squeaks. Well, not literally, mind you..._

The absurd thought made humor flash through him in a nervous little rill, and he fought the urge to laugh. _Oh, that's not appropriate. Not appropriate at all, because if you laugh then you'll have to explain to her __**why**__ you're laughing, and that's not going to get you anywhere that's good, either..._

"I don't know where to start. I thought I did, but..." He looked up at her in mute appeal.

Amy didn't feel like making it easy on the Doctor. When he looked up at her, though, eyes full of the same confusion and nerves she felt clawing at her own insides, she felt something in her that had been tightly wound for the past few days, maybe much longer than that, even, relent.

_Because he's the Doctor, and he knows everything, doesn't he? I mean he knows galaxies and moons, planets and time, races and species, all that stuff. He probably even knows why a raven is like a writing desk and how many angels can dance on the head of pin, but he doesn't know __how__ to explain __**himself**__, does he? He never does it. He's gotten so used to tossing off orders and having everybody just follow along, tiny little rowboats tugged along in his wake, without questioning because he's brilliant that when it's come time to pull back the curtain and show the inner working of something closer to home, when that's necessary, he's all thumbs. He's the smartest man in the world, well, maybe worlds is better, until it comes to anything that really matters, isn't he?_

She uncrossed her arms, and her face lost some of its distant sculpted look.

"How about if I ask some questions and you can answer them to get us going?"

He nodded, seized on that as if it were a life preserver in high seas. "Yes. Right. Good. You ask, and I'll answer. That should work."

She didn't have to think very long about the first question she needed answered. "How many times have you been in my head, Doctor?" She asked it very softly.

He flicked another glance at her. "Right to the lightning round, I see. No questions about Gallifreyan history first, or...or..." She continued to gaze at him steadily, calmly. "No. No, I suppose not." The carpet pattern became of supreme interest once again. He sighed, considered. "Technically, I think...three-and-a-half times. Yes. That's about right. Although, you could conflate the half time and round down, I suppose, as an ongoing part of one of the larger events. Yes. Let's do that. Let's call it three. I think that sounds better. Three." He braced himself, looked at her sideways, waited to see what she would do.

II.

"Three and a half times." Her voice sounded calm, peaceful even.

"Well, I think probably just three is better, more accurate..."

"THREE AND A HALF TIMES? YOU'VE POKED AROUND IN MY HEAD THREE AND A HALF TIMES WITHOUT TELLING ME YOU WERE GOING ABOUT THAT?"

"Amelia, it's not like that, listen..."

"What exactly is it like, then, Doctor? Because all I know is that I was kissing you, and all of a sudden I hear your voice _inside my head_. As clear as day. As clear as I'm hearing you right now. Only I know, I know, that it wasn't you talking, was it? Because your mouth was just a little too occupied to be having a conversation with me at that particular moment!"

She sprang up, crossed over to the mantle, leaned heavily against it. Her hands were white-knuckled with anger as she gripped the smooth cool stone of it, as she tried to calm down, tried to regain control.

He didn't move. He didn't get up, pursue her, try to pull her into his arms. He let her go, stayed still. She heard his voice a moment later.

"On Gallifrey, we have a high-level of native psychic potential. I suppose you could say the universe calls to us in a lot of ways. We're sensitive to the flow and ebb of time, to distortions and the warp of space, sensitive to the thoughts of each other and of other races in certain situations, just little exposed nerves running through the universe, we are." His lips quirked up in a painful smile, and then his eyes shadowed, the light in them dying. "Well, we were, anyway." The last was said softly, infinite sadness in it.

She did not turn away from the mantle, but he sensed her listening. It was enough for him to continue.

"When the first Council of the Time Lords rose, they began to train and hone our native abilities, strengthen them. A Time Lord is very much a creature of the mind. It is through the mind that they first bent time and space to their will. Much of our technology is based on a psychic link or imprint of some kind. That's why it only works for us or in our hands. It's just such a part of what we are...were...that none of us even though of it. It was so deeply ingrained in our culture that we took it for granted, just another sense, like sight or hearing. Our scientists used these abilities in their design, our healers used them in treatment, even our permanent records, the sum total of all Time Lord knowledge, the great Matrix, is...was...a modified form of mental energy." He paused here, and she could sense something, some memory there he left unspoken.

A moment later, he continued. "Anyway, because we were so sensitive and we were trained to be so strong, we were also trained first and foremost to maintain equally strong barriers between ourselves and the minds of others. It would have been the height of rudeness and poor taste for a Time Lord to lower his or her shields and just open his or her mind to everyone, a bit like running naked through a crowded public place on Earth, I suppose. By the time we entered young adulthood, keeping a basic shield up for the sake of politeness had become automatic, something nobody even thought about."

She turned around, wandered back to the couch. He was not looking at her. She had never heard him talk so much about his lost people. She had known only that he was the last. She knew that what he said was causing him pain, that this looking back was like walking across broken glass. Without saying anything, not wishing to stop the flow of this rare thing he was sharing, she sat on the far end of the couch again.

"So imagine what it's like to come to Earth, then. Varying level of mostly weak psychic potential all over the place, and nobody, but nobody really with any idea of how to manage even the most basic of shielding because almost nobody on the planet can tune into it. It's a bit like coming into a room with a thousand televisions and radios on. Most of the time I can tune them out, or at the very least sort of make it into a background blur. Trusty Time Lord training, and all that. But sometimes... Well..."

He looked at her directly for the first time.

"I want you to know that the first time I went into your mind was when Prisoner Zero took you over in Leadsworth. I did it because I had to do it. I formed a mild and temporary link with you to see what you were seeing. You won't remember it, although I suppose Rory might have told you about it at some point. He was there when it happened. It was nothing sordid, nothing evil, nothing involving any degree of mind control. I simply needed to communicate with you while Prisoner Zero was holding your dreaming mind hostage, more or less, and slipping into your mind like that was the only way I had to do it. I didn't go poking around into private corners, didn't open any closed doors. Nothing like that. I just found you where you were with Prisoner Zero, helped you change that dream, and got out. Honest."

She processed it a moment, nodded. "Okay. So that's one. Two and a half left to account for."

He hesitated. "Yeah. Well. These are the bits you're not going to like so much."

"Doctor..." Her tone became threatening.

"Okay. Okay. I promised full-disclosure, and full-disclosure you shall have. Fine. There will have to be more explanation of Time Lord biology now, if you can stand it, though."

She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, smirked a little. "Lecture away, professor."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she saw a flash of temper. "Look. Don't think this a ball of fun for me, either, Amy..."

"Sorry. Sorry. Go ahead."

He grumbled something under his breath that the TARDIS did not choose to translate, one of the only times that had happened since she'd been on board, and Amy decided it was probably an obscenity of some kind. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, she couldn't help but be amused by his frustration. _Yeah. Welcome to my world, Doctor._

"Alright then. I told you Time Lords had high psychic levels, yes?"

She nodded dutifully.

"Well, we are also touch telepaths. Do you know what that means?"

She tilted her head, thought about it a moment. "Does that mean that when you touch something you know about it?"

"Well, sort of. If it thinks, and if I am not actively blocking it out, then yes. That's what it means. Being in contact with something...or someone...makes it harder for me not to know what they're thinking. It sort of boosts the volume, as it were."

Amy thought about it. "So...when you touch someone, you know everything they're thinking."

"Usually not. I get fragments, images, sort of glimpses into them with most people. Some people don't give me anything at all. Some people," _you, "_yield more than others depending on the strength of their emotions. Again, how much I see when I touch someone depends on how stirred up the other person is, if there is a conductor in play, how long I am in contact, if I'm actively blocking or looking, and...and...um...certain other situations as well..."

She saw a faint blush creep along his cheeks. _Well, this has to be good. _"Such as..."

"Such as...such as...if...a...bond...is being formed." And the faint blush darkened.

_Oh yeah. Definitely something good behind door number one. Let's just kick that lock down and see, shall we?_

"And a bond would be..."

It was his turn to get up and pace. "The bit you won't like. The bit you definitely, definitely won't like." He did not elaborate further, however.

A thought dawned as she waited for him to sort out the next bit of his tangled explanation. "Your race is all about the mind, can connect through the mind, and it's like an inborn trait you said you all possess..."

He said nothing, froze, watched her agile thoughts chase it like a hunting hound with a slow and lame rabbit.

"...and you're all blushy and twitchy, trying to dance around something that's making you nervous..."

He looked affronted mildly, but said nothing.

"...and I heard you in my head these last two times when you were kissing me, when you were _touching_ me..."

He started pacing again, long strides, back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"And you almost went berserk this afternoon when I touched you... where you were touching me the other day in the pool. And it was when you were touching me _there_ that I felt that _feeling_..."

_Damn observant Pond. Why couldn't she not have noticed that... _Some part of him, though, was pleased. He couldn't deny it. He didn't have to like it, but he couldn't deny it... _Because maybe if she knows, she'll do it again..._ He stifled the dark voice and the little shiver of pleasure the thought of her fingers running over that sensitive area triggered ruthlessly.

"So if I'm right then, basically, then...a bond would be..."

"Yes. Yes. Exactly. It's what happens when Time Lords wish to beget little Time Lords. Or, since we stopped reproducing that way quite a long time ago, practice said biological function for fun. Okay? Succinct enough? Or shall I draw you a diagram to go with it?" He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it standing up in several odd directions.

"Sit down."

"What?" He stopped pacing to look at her. "What?"

"You heard me. You're making me dizzy, and I need to think a minute. Sit down."

He grunted in consternation, but flopped down on the far end of the couch again. She was sitting cross-legged, twisting her fingers together as she thought, her long hair a flaming curtain hiding most of her face. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay. He wanted to know what the hell she was thinking. _This. This is intolerable. _He'd never had to explain..._biology_...to anyone before. It made him feel ridiculous. Made him feel unbearably _old._ He brought his hands up and covered his face with them, closed his eyes.

He finally heard her take a deep breath, and he tensed waiting for her to start picking his soul apart again in little fractured pieces with her curiosity.

"Could you help it?" Her voice was very small as she asked.

He lowered his hands, startled, looked at her. "What? What do you mean?"

"Did you mean to? I mean the last two-and-a-half times. Were they...were they on purpose?"

He could tell that his answer was crucial, that he needed to be honest with her, that there was something essential and fundamental here that she needed from him, and as determined as he was to figure out _why_ that was, he knew she needed the answer first. He turned to face her on the couch, pulled his long legs up to face her, mimicked her cross-legged position.

"Not the first of those times, no. You had been battering me for days with images of...of...well, of us, I suppose is a delicate way to put it, and when you came into the pool room and got into the water with me, my barriers were already naturally low. The water acted as a conductor, and next thing I knew, I was tuned in to Radio Free Amelia Pond." His lips turned up, but there was little humor in the gesture.

Her eyes closed in embarrassment. "So you saw...you saw what exactly?"

"Ah...Amelia, don't ask me that." He looked away, embarrassed.

"No. I want to know. I have that right, don't you think? I mean, you've crawled all around the inside of my head, made it your own little play palace, so I don't think this is too much to ask..."

"Stop. It wasn't like that." His tone was angry as was the gaze that snapped back to clash with hers.

"Wasn't it?"

"No. No, Amy. I've never seen anything you weren't trying to show me, at least unconsciously. I haven't climbed into your head and pilfered around. It doesn't work like that. Well, okay, yes, it could work like that, but _I_ don't work like that, anyway. Look, it's...I...you were broadcasting so loudly. Even before the pool, even with my shields in place, sometimes, I could catch glimpses of it. But I always did the appropriate thing, the proper thing, and I... I turned my eyes away. Well, I'm sorry, but that day in the pool, I just couldn't anymore. You were there, and you wanted me, and... I... I wasn't as noble as I should have been."

"What _did_ _you see_?"

He sighed. "You really want me to do this? Fine." His tone was flat and his eyes slid away from hers again. He gestured idly, tiredly. "In one of the visions you showed me, I saw you and me. Lots of you and me, actually, since we were both stark naked. I saw me pin you to a wall, which I'm assuming was a corridor of the TARDIS, judging from the architectural detail, and then I just sort of lifted you up a bit, and you wrapped your..."

She was looking at him with eyes gone saucer-big in a face bone white. "Stop. Just stop," she choked out. She drew her knees up and buried her face in them. Her voice came to him muffled a moment later. "You saw a lot of this sort of thing, yeah?"

"Quite a bit, yes. Variations on a theme, you might say. If it's any consolation whatsoever to you, I must say that you have a very colorful imagination."

She raised her head like a shot. "Thanks, Doctor, but no. I'm sorry. At this particular moment in time, I can't say it's any comfort at all." Her tone would have cut steel.

"Right. Sorry. Another one of those things that sounded better in my head than it did out and about in the real world..."

They were silent for long moments, both of them staring into the green fire. He finally broke the quiet.

"Would you do me the favor of answering a question of my own, Amy?"

She looked at him warily. "Maybe. You can ask it, and I'll see."

"Other than the obvious ickyness of having someone muck about in your head without your permission, what else is it about this that is bothering you so?"

She shifted on the couch, started to get angry, and he made a placating gesture with his hands. "No, no, no. I'm not trying to downgrade it. Please. I am trying to understand. There is something else here that matters, and I need you to tell me what it is. Why are you so afraid of my having been in your mind, Amelia? Help me understand. You have to know that I'd...I mean I hope you understand that I'd...I'd never hurt you..."

She put her chin on her knees, stared off at one of the stained glass windows, one with a little girl offering a rose to a giant beast of some sort. She had decided it was a variation on "Beauty and the Beast" probably. Either that or the little girl was bringing flowers to something where she was about to be served up as the main dish. _That was the problem with fairy tales, wasn't it? It could always go either way..._

"When I was little, after you were gone," she paused, wet her lips, started again. "When I was little, they kept telling me that there was something wrong with my mind. You know, basically that I was crazy. My aunt tried everything the experts suggested to "cure me" of my delusions. There was no Raggedy Doctor. There had been no blue box, no crack in the wall, no psychic paper, no fish sticks and custard. She was well-intentioned. I don't blame her. And, I was stubborn, and I guess not-so-smart looking back at it now, or I would have just told them what they wanted to hear and believed whatever I liked privately. But these are not the sorts of distinctions you make when you're ten, twelve."

He said nothing, continued to look at her, fought the need to grab her into his arms.

"They fed me drugs that made me sick, sleepy, forgetful, throw up, even. I didn't feel like myself half the time, couldn't think straight, couldn't even feel straight or true with all that crap blocking my emotions. When that didn't work, they tried hypnotherapy, planting suggestions, all sorts of things. I think that by the time I was getting old enough to rebel against it all that if a traveling shaman had come into town, my aunt would have taken me in to see him for the whole works." She laughed, but there was despair in it.

"And then there was Prisoner Zero, all those years silently worming its way into my mind, making some sort of horrible invisible tunnel inside me so it could dart in and hide if it needed to. And then it needed to..." Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered at the memory of the feeling of Prisoner Zero's mind slipping into hers, forcing hers to feed it images as it desperately tried to hide from the Atraxi.

"So the integrity of my mind became something I value very highly, Doctor," she said very softly, looking at him for the first time, direct, intense. "Have you ever had anybody muck around inside your head?"

"I...yes. I have. Yes." Memories of a thousand conflicts with enemies who also fought with the mind, a hundred moments when his will had been stripped from him by beings more powerful than he or who used machinery or manipulation, of endless combats that had taken place inside the scarred landscape of his own mind flickered, like a horror show, brief, gruesome, permanently etched. This was not the time to share. It was enough to say simply yes.

She studied his face, saw what she needed there apparently, and nodded. "So you know, then. You _know_."

And he did. He knew it all too well. He had never considered, never even thought of this fragile, ephemeral little Earth-child carrying scars like this around with her. _Folly and arrogance, Doctor. You're not the only one in this world who carries pain. You don't have the sole lease on a past with hurt in it._

Worse still, _he'd_ been the instrument of hers. Accidentally, to be sure, but the cause nonetheless. Instead of saving that little girl with the scary crack in her bedroom wall, he'd somehow managed to set her up for years of pain instead...

"Amelia Pond," he said softly. She looked at him curiously. "I really was the big bad wolf in your story, wasn't I? Huffed and puffed and blew all your houses in. I left you out in the cold with no refuge at all. And I've no way to make it better, you know. I would if I could, but there's no way to go back, and I...I..." He shook his head, looked down at his lap, felt the creeping hand of misery and guilt rising to choke him, felt his own self-hatred blossoming like bright black flowers, thorns ripping, gouging. _Another life blighted, destroyed..._

She looked at him sitting there in abject misery, and she thought about his words, his explanations. She knew there was more for them to discuss, hadn't missed the fact that he hadn't yet told her about the last time he'd been in her head, hadn't explained the sensations she'd felt in the pool to her satisfaction, either, but she thought she had a pretty good indication of what all that might be about all on her own.

_And it's not like I'm not going to get all that out of him in time. Ha. And that's the one thing we really do have, isn't it? Time? Can't stand seeing him there like this..._

He heard her move, unexpectedly felt her hand lightly touch his own, hesitate a moment, then slip firmly around it to grasp, twine his fingers and her own together. He raised his eyes to hers, not understanding.

"No, Doctor," she said with a gentle sigh. "Look. What is, is. I don't regret what happened in the past. I'd be regretting meeting you, wouldn't I?" He winced, tried to pull his hand away, but she clung firmly, refused to let go. "Stop it. I mean it. There were parts that were...okay, so not so much fun, to be perfectly honest, but I survived it. And maybe I needed them so I would be ready for just this time, just this moment, just this conversation."

"Amy," he whispered. "All the pain you've been through, all the drugs, the therapists, Prisoner Zero, all of it, that was because of me. You do see that, don't you? How can you keep saying that..."

"Because pain comes to everyone, Doctor, in some form or another. But not everyone gets so much wonder to balance out the scales. So if I choose to count myself lucky for having had a crazy man in a blue box fall out of my sky one night when I was a wee girl, who are you to tell me otherwise?"

And she pulled him gently forward into her arms, held him tightly to her.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Okay. Amazingly enough, many of you are still with me, even after the LONG explanation. Yay! Here's some more... Gosh. I think I'm starting to feel just a _little_ bit...pie-ish... *g* Anybody else up for key lime?

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**

About the only time losing is more fun than winning is when you're fighting temptation.

~Tom Wilson

For every man there exists a bait which he cannot resist swallowing.

~Friedrich Nietzsche

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I.

When she pulled him into her arms, some part of him demanded that he resist, that he continue to explain to her what kind of monster he was, that he pull free of her for her own good, run away, end this moment of acceptance on her part. _She still doesn't know. Doesn't know what you are, doesn't know what you've done, doesn't understand that you're the thing everyone is scared of in the darkness hiding under the disguise of goodness, a whitewashed tomb...When she finds out...when __**she finds out**__..._ That voice with teeth in it hissed at him from the shadows in his soul, and he felt misery claw at him anew.

However, despite the fact that she was only a human woman-girl, not his equal in physical strength, not his equal in years or in knowledge, not his equal in so many areas, in this moment of acceptance, somehow she bested him. He could not make himself push her away. So he deliberately shut out the vengeful, hateful voice inside him, and rested his head on her shoulder looking away toward the fireplace with a soft sound and a tiny shiver of something like relief. Her hands, those small, ruby-tipped hands, circled slowly, soothingly on his back, exerting no force to keep him there against her, but for all that, as inescapable in their pull as a collapsing star.

"You're just as broken as I am, aren't you, Doctor?" she murmured.

She heard his breath pause, felt the strange tempo of his hearts against her alter, but he did not speak.

"What a pair we are then," she continued softly, her voice filling his ear, his mind, his world. "The Raggedy Doctor, the mad lonely man in his blue box sailing through the stars and the years, and the poor little crazy Scottish girl in an English village who sees things that are not there and throws tantrums."

He shut his eyes. _Oh, Amelia. You're weaving a spell, you are. But I __**will **__be strong this time. I __**can**__ be strong. I can be... _He turned his face into the fragrant spill of her hair, inhaled the scent of her, in spite of himself. It was, after all, uncomfortable to sit so long in that other position. He blocked the mocking laughter and the whine of desire that arose within him at his rationalization, at the fragrance of her.

"Maybe we're too much in one place," she mused. "Some would say that. Too much bull-headed stubbornness. Too much love of adventure. It might be a bad thing, volatile to have so much of it together in the same place." She felt his breath feather her hair in a puff of amusement.

"They might be right, too, you know," he said, at last breaking his silence. "Especially about the stubbornness."

"Am I as stubborn as all that, then?" She smiled as she said it, glad to hear something like his usual bantering expression starting to chase some of the shadows from his voice.

He pushed back slightly to look her in the eyes, but she slid her hands up to his shoulders, didn't let him go very far. "Amy, and I say this with all respect due you, I think you may just be almost as stubborn as me."

"Oh, high praise indeed, then," she snarked, and then she laughed, reaching up to smooth down his wild hair gently.

He laughed too, a little. "Certainly. The highest, you know..." His voice trailed off and he looked down into her eyes again, saw the light in them. His hands came up to catch hers, still them. "Amelia..."

"You're holding my hands, so we're in contact. I wonder. Are...are you seeing something now?" Her thumbs caressed his fingers where they held hers captive.

"No," he said firmly. "And I'll have you know I am most definitely _not_ looking. Shields are all nicely down. Locked up tight and barred against all invasion. Not falling into that again."

She tilted her head to the side, leaned toward him just a bit, was amused when he leaned back in equal measure.

"If you're not inside my head, how do you know that there's anything to take that particular tone with me about then? Hmm? I might be thinking about unicorns or bicycles, you know..."

His lips turned up in a wry, arrogant smirk. "Some things you don't have to be a mindreader to know, Pond. I mean, I have been around this block once or twice in 907 years, mind you..."

"Oh really? Have you then? Bet there are some interesting stories there. Want to tell me some of those? True Confessions through the ages?"

"Well, I mean to say, that is..."

She laughed at his sudden discomfort, took advantage of the opportunity to slip her hands free of his grasp, frame his face gently with her hands, lean in close.

"Amy," he whispered, focused on her mouth so close now, only a breath away from his own. "Amy, wait. There are other things you need to know, have to know, other questions I'm sure you want answered first..." His hands were on her shoulders as they had been so long ago now, the first time she'd backed him up against the TARDIS doors and kissed him. They were pushing against her gently, trying to keep her away, but now, as then, they weren't putting very much effort into it, she couldn't help but notice.

She smiled, looked from his eyes which were filled with a mixture of concern and desire down to the mouth she wanted so much to taste and back again. "You're right. There probably are. And I definitely do. But let's just consider this bit a practical experiment, okay?" And she leaned in, and did what she was best at. She took what she wanted.

II.

He was in something of a conundrum. She was kissing him, and that was a very good thing. In fact, he liked it very, very much. In fact, the thought flitted across his mind to wonder where she'd gotten this good at kissing in her short life, but he chased it away as best he could. _Bloody Kiss-O-Gram,_ he grumbled to himself, and his hands tightened around her, pulling her closer to him. He did _not _like the thought of that at all. His mouth plundered hers a little more aggressively.

But then like a dash of cold water...

Well...

Really...

They shouldn't be doing this, should they. This shouldn't be happening. Not unless she was completely sure. Because there would be consequences. Things he couldn't take back. Things he'd need. Things she might not like if they went where he thought she wanted this to go. Snogging on the couch was one thing. And a mighty fine thing it was. _In fact,_ he reflected as she did something interesting with that berry-sweet tongue of hers, _it was something that didn't really make it onto enough lists of worthy pursuits in the known worlds, wasn't it? I mean that little maneuver alone would be worth studying in detail for..._

He shook himself mentally. _Great Rassilon. Get control of yourself. She's not the first female you've ever kissed. Even if she does have hair like the fire-cascades of Durania and skin as soft as... Stop it! You need to Stop. This. Or next thing you know, your instinct is going to overrule you, and she's going to be one exceptionally ticked-off woman... And that will be the least of your problems._

He dutifully pushed her back gently, creating a space between them, tried again. "Amy...Amelia... really, let me explain to you about the..."

She pushed him back hard, hard enough to tumble him back onto the couch, and she crawled up him to lie across him before he could react, her eyes glittering, her kiss-swollen bottom lip caught between her teeth. "No. I don't think so. Not this time." She was leaning over him, something predatory in her eyes as she looked down.

"Pond..." He felt his pulse react to the demand in her gaze, to the scent of her need, to the desire in her mind which was now flowing against his weakening barriers like the sea destroying a child's abandoned sandcastle, felt his body reply. _Because there's not a male alive who wouldn't respond to __**that. **__That is the heart of a thousand suns, that is the light of life, that is...Amelia..._

"Doctor," she purred, running her hands up his chest, and with a deft flick of her fingers, she pulled his bowtie undone. "I say this with all due gratitude for how concerned you are for my feelings..." Her tone let him know she was choosing words to echo his earlier, and he fleetingly appreciated it for just a moment until she bent over him on one elbow, lips almost touching his while the fingers of her free hand worked the first four buttons of his shirt, slipped in between the undone fabric and his undershirt, curled her nails slightly against him just to feel his abdomen tense. She laughed softly. "...with all due gratitude, just shut up and kiss me." And still he might have been able to turn away, still he might have been able to leave her had she not sealed her spell with the deepest of magics. For then she locked eyes with him and with the hand of the arm she rested on, she gently, slowly, _deliberately_ circled delicate fingertips over that place where lovers connect minds.

Instinct and desire blazed up, overruled all the other tiny pitiful little voices. Inside him, the dark beast slipped its collar. His hands slid around her, gripped her hard, convulsively closed, and he pulled her down.

III.

She felt the difference in him immediately. It was as if a switch had been thrown. His hands came around her, slid up her back to pull her down hard against him, one hand twining up into her hair to cradle the back of her head and angle it to suit him as his mouth found hers again, nipped her bottom lip before sliding his tongue over it and across her own. His other hand slid down to cup her derrière, spread wide over the curve of it and hold her hips firmly against his own, make her feel the rising and profound evidence of his desire for her there. He pushed lightly with his body, and she found herself suddenly somehow underneath him, pressed down into the softness of the blue upholstery. The movement had been agile, lightning fast, and _strong_. She shivered with it, with the dexterity of the change, with the newfound pleasure of his weight settling on top of her.

She hadn't really properly appreciated how good he felt there when he'd been pinning her to the couch earlier. She'd been far too angry to feel the angular strength of him, to stretch beneath him, arch up into the hands that skated down her sides lightly, lightly to her hips in encouragement as they fit together like two long-separated halves of a whole. She made a little sound of satisfaction into his mouth, which he devoured, changing the angle of the kiss as if he were trying to taste more of her, trying to drink deeper, giving her a growl of his own as she slipped her right leg up and around his lean waist.

She felt one of his hands slip under the edge of her sweater just above the waistband of her pants, could feel just the tips of his fingers against the skin of her stomach, and her muscles there contracted with the sensation of his touch. She slid her own hands to hair, tunneled her fingers through it fiercely.

_Oh God, touch me, Doctor, please... _ slid through her mind, and he smiled against her mouth, ran his hand up her in an open palmed caress that had her twisting against him. _Too slow...you're...I need...more... Everywhere you touch me, I... I..._

He broke the kiss to nibble his way up her neck ending beside her ear. "Slow down, Pond. I know. I know. All good things take time, though..." And he sucked her earlobe; she felt his teeth tug gently. He laughed as she cursed at him, pulled at him, and he captured both her hands in one his own, pinned them over her head against the couch, looked down at her with eyes black and starshot with desire. "After all," he murmured, "I do know exactly what you want, don't I?"

Her head fell back and her eyes swept closed as his mouth burned kisses along the neckline of her sweater, across her collarbone, as his hand slid back under the soft fabric, up, and up, so slow, circling...

_You...you...can hear me again, can't you?...you're...you can...see...Oh God..._

His hand covered her breast over the satin bra she wore,cupped her gently, flicked his thumb lightly over the already aroused peak. Again. Again. She felt liquid lighting course through her with every touch. He studied her face intently as the sensations flooded through her. "'S not possible for this to happen without it, Amelia, not for me. It's a part of it for me. One of the things I was trying to tell you."

_So you know... you know... _She gasped, moaned as he skimmed the strap down her shoulder slightly, slipped her free of the satin cup, lightly rolled her between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth covered hers, tasting the pleasure, drinking in the sounds she made for a moment before he leaned back again.

"Yes. I know everything you need," he kissed her deeply, slowly, "know just how you want it." He sucked her bottom lip, releasing it to give her a brief, but thoroughly wicked look full of promise that made her toes curl, "Know just how to give it to you." His fingertips were now circling her breast lightly, distracting, arousing beyond all measure. He lowered his head to where her belly was exposed by her rucked-up sweater, kissed her navel, flicked his tongue in, then pressed open-mouthed kisses against her skin as he began to push her sweater up and out of his way. She was making a little sound of need that she didn't seem to be able to stop...

*Know it, beautiful Pond, because part of my pleasure will come from giving you yours. But this knowing...it's going to turn into a two-way street if we go much much further. There won't be any help for that...*

He had her sweater pushed up to just beneath her bra, was resting his head on her stomach, his hands tracing soothing circles down her sides. Her lust-addled brain registered, as he'd no doubt intended her to, that she had heard his voice once again in her head. Just like before in the pool. He was looking at her with barely banked desire, waiting for some sign from her before he proceeded. She understood, quite clearly, that he was giving her a chance to back down, to run away before all the rules of the game changed for good.

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**Okay, so it was pie light (fat free? ha!) this time. Stay tuned, gentle reader. Stay tuned...**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: *Ding, ding* Order up. Pie. Key Lime. You kept your fork, right, honey? (Very, very much M.)

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What he had yearned to embrace was not the flesh but a downy spirit, a spark, the impalpable angel that inhabits the flesh.

~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939, translated from French by Lewis Galantière

It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover. ~Marge Piercy

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I.

She struggled to pull the tatters of her thoughts together, looked down at him. He lay still except for those gentle hands, but it was a stillness, she knew somehow, that was costing him, a stillness bought only with incredible power of restraint. She could see it in his eyes, and the depth of the desire, the vast heat of the _hunger_ she saw there, made her lips part on a soundless gasp, made a shiver of answering sensation run through her. His hands gripped her briefly, possessively, as her reaction flowed through him, and then they softened again.

Somehow she found her voice, a broken, husky whisper. "Tell me, then."

He slid up her, rolled her into his arms so they lay side by side, bodies pressed firmly together down the length of the couch. His hand caressed the exposed flesh of her back, her side, all the way down to her hip, pulled her against him, urged her top leg over his and back around his waist, and he grunted with pleasure when she complied with his wordless demand. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, nuzzling there, and she murmured his name softly as he opened his mouth and she felt his teeth, lightly, once, graze the joining of neck and shoulder, felt his tongue flicker against her, tasting. Then he stilled, sighed. She waited, mind spinning.

"The more intimate we become, the more urgent it will be for me to join my mind with yours fully. Right now, the link we have is actually rather superficial, only one created by the amount of contact we're sharing. I know how you feel about the whole issue of people being inside your head, Amelia, but it's going to be unavoidable if we continue." He pressed his mouth to hers languidly for a moment, placating the leading and worst edge of the hunger inside him to allow him another delay.

"However that's not all of it... the.. closer... we get, the stronger the bond is made, and it won't just be _me_ seeing into _you_. You'll... you'll see into me as well. The bond will let you know me as I'm knowing you, feed you what I desire, what I'm feeling in the same way. It will be quite intense."

She nodded slowly, showed him that she understood. She had more or less expected most of this since she'd heard his voice, felt him in her mind before... There was more, though...

He looked at her carefully, studied her face, "And... then there's the fact that being inside my head may not be a comfortable place for you for a variety of reasons. I won't lie about it. You've had no training for the bond as a female of my own kind would've done, and ... There's...darkness there... You might see... things..."

His eyes were shadowed, haunted, tormented. She slipped her hand up to cup his cheek.

"I'm not afraid. You would never hurt me. I trust you."

His eyes slipped closed and he covered her hand with his own, laced their fingers tightly together, turned his face into her palm to kiss it fervently, brought his mouth back to hers for a fast echo there before continuing.

"But Time Lords, we don't quite work like human males when it comes down to it, y'see. Once we reach a certain point, well... the darker aspects of our nature come out. All that mental discipline, all our rigid self-control...it's quite necessary. When we lay it aside, on those rare moments when we do... Before the rise of the Council, before we mastered ourselves, Amy, we were..."

*/Images of warriors, arrogant, bloodstained and proud / bending the weak to their will/ battle cries raging into the responsive blackness of the night sky / war and power / curving swords and pure might / chaos and ruthlessness/*

His words and the images trailed away, and he looked at her again with those ravenous, starving, dangerous eyes. Half his face was dappled with dark blue light from the stained glass windows like a mask, like a shadow. Probably, she should have run. Probably, she should have squealed like a little frightened girl and run away as fast as her shaking legs would carry her, back to the brightly-lit safety of the TARDIS corridor, back to the locking-door safety of her room, back to the dully-predictable safety of Rory and his plodding plans. But she's never taken the safe path in her life, and what she sees in his eyes only makes her body tighten in anticipation, growl a little herself somewhere. _And he feels it, hears it. And he knows. Knows that she's chosen._

She went with boldness, always her favorite choice in any situation where she felt any unsurety. She traced a finger over his eyebrow, which raises under her touch. "Mmm. What big, lovely eyes you've got, wolfie..." She pressed a kiss to his eyelids which swept closed for her, opened again moments later.

Something flickered hot, bright, joyous in his gaze, sizzled through her. He grinned. "All the better to see you with, my dear."

She ran her fingertip lightly down the bridge of his nose. "And what a big nose you have..."

He laughed, that short head-tossing bark of humor. "Ha! Nothing compared to some I've had in the past, mind you..."

She didn't know exactly what to make of that remark, so she continued her exploration. His eyes remained watchful, hot, but his hands remained still on her. She knew he was waiting...waiting... _What for? Doesn't he know, haven't I made it clear that..._

_*For the **right** question... There's a progression to these things, you know. Traditions to uphold. Come on...*_

His leg shifted distractingly between hers. Her eyes cut back to his, a little furrow between her brows. His grin didn't fade. She focused on that grinning mouth, brought her fingertips up, gently traced the outline of his mouth with them.

"And what great big teeth you've got, wolfie..." Her mouth went dry, suddenly, her eyes snapped back to his, were snared there by the pure greed, the power of his own. _Oh God. That's the right question, __isn't it? That's the question..._

His grin became feral, and he shifted her easily to lie on top of him, pulled her drape across him as if she weighed nothing, as if she were feather-light. _*Oh yes, Pond. Oh yes. That's the question I've been waiting for. Because you know the answer to it, don't you?*_

His hands were skimming her sweater up, pulling it off, throwing it carelessly across the room. Nimble fingers unhooked her bra next, sent it flying to join the sweater faster than she could follow, and then his hands were running up her bare back and he was rolling her under him, his weight settling back against her again, slowly pinning her down.

His eyes raked over her, looking at the body he had revealed for himself with a savage light in his eyes. Then they captured her own again, direct, impatient. _*The answer, Amelia... The answer?* _He leaned over her, opened his mouth slightly, and she felt the heat of his breath fan across one bare breast. Her nipple was peaked and waiting for him. Her hands found and clutched at his shoulders.

_Think? He's lying there... like that...about to... and he wants me to think?_ Her mind struggled to focus through the thick haze of anticipation and she distinctly heard his low chuckle like distant thunder in her her mind.

"The...the...better...the better... to eat you all up with...my dear..."

He smiled again, full of wicked promise. _*Ah yes. And that is just what I'm going to do...*_ And he took the aching peak in one voracious kiss with a deep, satisfied sound low in his throat.

II.

She'd lost track of time. Somewhere along the way, it had simply stopped having any sort of meaning. He could have been kissing her, touching her, for minutes or days. She had no clue anymore. Maybe his mouth had always been hot, wet, open and demanding on first one breast and then the other, suckling her greedily just like this, just the slightest tease of teeth making her twist beneath him. Maybe she had always been arched under him, hands in his hair, these little sounds of encouragement slipping from her.

*_Amusement/Desire/Hunger/Need/Pleasure/Strawberries* _She gasped, gripped his head harder as it swept over her like the first unexpected cold wave of rain in a summer downpour. It hadn't been words she'd heard. It hadn't been images he'd showed her. She'd _felt it._..she'd felt..._strawberries?_

He brought his mouth to hers, gently, soothingly. "It's okay. It's okay. That would just be...me." He smiled a tiny little self-deprecatory grin, but he looked at her with a question in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. It was just unexpected. And yeah, intense. I thought you were going to have to...I mean I thought you would..." She blushed, but they were connected enough that he really didn't need her words.

"You thought I had to touch you...here," he brushed his fingers gently and with relish along her temple, and she felt that electrifying current of pleasure roll through her, turned her face into his hand, helplessly seeking.

His lips covered hers, parted hers, and he kissed her deeply. She felt that sense of him returning as he kissed her, that echo of what she was feeling that was not an echo, that was his own great joy in the joining of their mouths. She groaned softly, shifted beneath him. _Want you. Want this. Want...want...more..._

He broke the kiss, but his fingertips continued to stroke her lightly. She felt that rolling electrical storm shudder through her, and she watched his eyes slip closed, knew that he felt it, too.

_*I don't have to touch you here, Amelia, for us to connect, but this place on our bodies is...more sensitive, sort of a mainline psychic connection for us, and when we're intimate, more...erotic, I suppose. It becomes an erogenous zone when touched by a lover. / Sudden flash of images on that word - the two of them entwined face-to-face, bodies enmeshed but barely moving, of their hands on each other's faces, shattering bliss consuming them. Scene change - she on her knees, he behind her, taking her hard, steady, biting her neck in a kiss of possession, fingers of one hand between her legs, the fingers of the other on her temple both stroking, stroking as she cries out/_

She gasped. Heat flooded her. _How long have you wanted to do...how long have you been thinking about..._

"Yes," he murmured, starting to remove his hand. "I did warn you it would be a two-way street." _Now she'll run away. Now she is starting to know the depth and darkness of my need. Now..._

_No, Doctor. _She rolled her face to keep his hand in contact with her face, reached up, slipped trembling fingers against his temple, traced them to match his touch on her own. _Why do I keep having to say this to you? Can't you read my mind? _

_*Right. Shutting up and commencing the kissing right now, Ms. Pond.*_

III.

They stood up to get the rest of their clothing off. Suspenders, pairs of pants, shoes, knickers, everything came off with amazing speed with four coordinated hands invested in the task. The only hold-up in the process came because Amelia did not want to stop kissing him long enough to allow him to get his undershirt off.

_*Amelia...this one does **not** come off with buttons, you know. You will have to step back a **bit**.*_

_So damn well be quick about it, then._ She stepped back just long enough for him to sweep it over his head and toss it to the growing pile of their cast-off garments before running her hands up his bare chest, pressing herself against him again with a feline sound of approval.

He smirked just before he took her lips with his own. _*Ha. Guess I'll be hearing quite a bit of that, I suppose...*_

_Meaning?_

_*Meaning I plan to take my sweet time with you. And being a Lord of Time...* _ He smirked again.

She arched back as he began to kiss his way down her neck, her shoulders, lower. She held to his shoulders, slipped one leg up around his as his mouth settled back at her breasts again.. _Awfully sure of __yourself, aren't you?_

He skimmed the fingers of one hand down her alabaster skin to the flaming curls between her legs. She cried out in her mind and aloud, hips hitching. *_I suppose...I am at that. Yeah... Do you think it's unjustified?/ smugness /excitement / __**hunger**__ *_

_Doctor... oh..ifyoustop...oh...heavenohdeathoh...yeessss..._

_*I know...Beautiful...So lovely... Have to touch you...Been waiting so very, very long, see...*_

His fingers caressed her slowly, rhythmically, steadily, his mouth coming up to drink the little gasps and mewling noises she made. He used his thumb to stroke the bud of her firmly while he slipped another finger inside her suddenly, sharply.

_Faster. More. Just like...just like...like that. And there. Please...Need...Need..._

Desire, lust, hot and pure flowed back to her through the bond and it intensified her own sensations, doubled them. She could feel his savage pleasure at watching her, his arousal at the feel of her slick against his fingers as he drove her relentlessly higher and higher with each languid stroke, at the knowledge that _he_ was the one making her body twist and writhe. That lightning that came with his touch forked through her, and she tensed, cried out wordlessly, her release washing through them both.

IV.

She clung to him, weakly, recovering, one of his arms around her waist holding her to him. Then suddenly...

_*Strawberries. I knew it...Strawberries...*_

_What? What is this with the strawberries..._

_*Amusement/Need/Need/Need*_

She looked up at him to see him licking his index finger, lightly. Heat seared through her.

"You taste like strawberries, Amelia. All over, apparently. Did you know that?" His tone was light, but the look in his eyes was predatory.

She shook her head, mutely. He was backing her up toward the couch. She felt it hit the back of her knees, and she sat down reflexively. He folded down in front of her, kneeling, supple, graceful as any big hunting cat and twice as dangerous. His hands rested lightly on her knees, and she felt the muscles in her thighs flex lightly in response.

"Did you know that I happen to _adore_ strawberries? It _used_ to be bananas, I think, but tastes will change, and as I am now, strawberries are my absolute favorite." His hands slid open-fingered, broad-palmed, slowly, slowly up the inside of her legs, pushing them apart. He smiled, wolfishly, hungrily.

_Going to eat me all up. _She giggled a nervous little laugh inside their joined minds._ Oh God... Oh God..._

_*Yes. Rather. Going to start right now, too. Hope you're ready...* _

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her forward to the edge of the couch, looked up at her briefly, and then...and then...

She wasn't. She truly wasn't. There was no way to be ready. He teased her, he laved her, he circled, he suckled, he was delicate, he was demanding. She screamed, she cried, she praised him, she cursed him, she pulled at his hair, she clawed at his shoulders, she begged, she threatened, she came again and again, and still he curled between her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders finally to free up his hands to lift her to enjoy her further, feasting, satiating his unending hunger for her pleasure and his own, for the sound of his name on her lips, echoing across the bond in his mind. Her hips bucked against him, and she felt him smile against her, heard him growl against her. Eventually, the world seemed to grow far away and hazy, and she fell back on the couch to feel the last flicker of his tongue flutter against her oversensitive flesh. He rested his head on her knee, looked up at her.

_Why are you picturing me as a giant carved stone statue, and why are all those people dead at my feet?_

He laughed softly, turned his head and kissed her thigh. It quivered lightly in response. She stroked his hair weakly.

_*Ah, Pond. You gorgeous creature. My impossible little strawberry goddess.* _ He sighed, and she felt deep satisfaction through their connection.

"I don't understand. You didn't...I mean, we didn't... You just... I mean...I _certainly_...but...you" She glanced down at the ample evidence of her point of concern.

_*Amusement/Arousal/Affection/Appreciation for her concern/A frankly proprietary pride in her condition as she lay there, ravaged and tousled*_

"Astutely noted. Right now, though, we are short two things we would need."

"And... those would be?"

"A bed...and a bit of rest for you first, Amy." _Because whether or not you know it yet, this has been something of an experience for you today, dear beauty..._

"What? Why?" she pouted, leaning up from the back of the couch. He rose to sit beside her, pull her lightly into his arms.

_*Can't stop touching her...just need to touch her...need to...want to...feels good to...* _He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaled deeply, kissed her jaw.

She ran her hands down his back. "I'm okay. And you know I want you, want this, want _all_ of this..." Her hands crept down to his hips, and he caught images of her thoughts of sneaking those clever fingers around between them, shivered in response.

He sighed against her skin, pressed another lingering kiss against her, sat back a bit, ran his fingers over her pouting and kiss-bitten lips. _*Stubborn wench* _ "What I unarguably know is that I'm not going to have you on this narrow couch. Well, at least not the first time, that is. Maybe later. No room whatsoever to be creative here. And that's that," he said, grabbing at the hands that finally made the darting run toward him foretold by her wayward thoughts and pulling her up with him.

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**Review, won't you?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Oh, you darling readers. Aren't you all just a little bit of wonderful? Thank you so much for the reviews. I apologize for the delay in updates. My DSL at home has been down and the almighty powers-that-be haven't been too concerned with getting out here and repairing it, sooo... I will be posting a massive block o' updates when this one goes up. I hope you'll read them all. And not shoot me.**

**Anyhoo, on with the show.

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You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present. ~Jan Glidewell

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I.

At the Doctor's insistence, they'd gotten dressed again before they'd left the room despite her frown.

Amelia was against the idea. "It's a waste of time. You and I both know where we're going, and clothing, when we get there, is just going to get in the way."

"_You_ are always in such a hurry." He kissed her gently, and when her hands began to roam in a manner designed to distract him, he laughed , shaking his head and pushing her back to rummage through one of the piles of clothing strewn around the room. "Haven't you learned anything yet? Sometimes taking one's time can be a _good_ thing..." His voice was amused, and he gave her brief flashes of the pleasure he'd had from tasting her earlier, making her gasp. "And besides, we can't just run about the place naked, Amy. Well, that's not technically true. I suppose we could, but the corridors have a tendency to be a bit cold, uncomfortably so, really, with nothing on and it is quite a long way from here to there, well, I mean it usually is unless she's remapped things lately...We're not going to, anyway."

She'd snorted, arms crossed in such a way as to highlight some of her more obvious charms, and he'd simply thrown her shirt at her, hitting her in the face, grinning unrepentantly at her when she emerged from it to give him a killing glance. She muttered and began to pull on her clothing.

_*Besides...I seem to recall you having this unhealthy obsession about my bowtie, something about undoing it with your teeth... Might be your chance to indulge in that...*_

She finished doing the fastenings on her pants and looked at him. He already had his trousers on and was doing up the buttons on the front of his shirt. Her frown became a reluctant grin which turned genuine and then seductive in quick succession. She crossed the short distance and ran a finger upwards along the row of buttons on his shirt front. "Hmm...Might be my chance to indulge in any number of things, mightn't it, now?" And the smile she gave him was dangerous as she grabbed the undone ends of his tie which were sticking out from under his collar and pulled him down for a kiss. It was some time before they finished up with the rest of their clothing.

II.

They were stumbling down the corridor toward the last-known location of their rooms, holding hands and colliding with each other a little too frequently.

"Doctor, I'm not usually this clumsy, you know. Feels like I've had a wee bit too much to drink or something..."

He smirked. "Go with the 'or something' portion of that theory, Amy."

She poked him with her index finger. "Ha-ha. Aren't we a rolling comedy club tonight? You're not doing so well, yourself, Mr. High and Mighty."

He grinned. "It appears I also may have overindulged just a bit."

She snickered.

"You should be proud, you know." He circled his thumb over the palm of the hand he was holding, a gentle caress that made her laughter die and a shiver flicker up her spine.

"Yeah? Why?"

"It's not easy to intoxicate a Time Lord. Two hearts, redundancies in so many of our systems, all of that. Most things cycle out of my system very fast if they even affect me at all. Only something very potent will do it." He thought again briefly of that liquor of Rishell made from the little golden moon melons. _What did they call that stuff again? Tasted like honey and happiness and harp music...ah yes...Lunacy..._

She bumped into him, giggling, and the two of them tumbled into the TARDIS wall. He smiled at her, and she slipped her arms around his neck. _ Lunacy, indeed...enchanting stuff...addictive if one isn't careful, too, as I recall... _Without seeming to be able to help himself, he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers with a little sigh of pleasure.

_*You know, something's off about this...* _ He mused a few minutes later as they kissed, unable to resist...

_Off? / slightly offended / Like what?_

He slid his hands down from her back to her waist. He felt her lips start to curve against his as she caught the image in his mind, that imprint from her own fantasy flung at him unintentionally before she'd known he could _see_...

_*Well, for example, I'm almost positive that in the original version of this particular little scenario, I was standing...more like...* _And he turned her suddenly so her back was to the wall. He broke away from the joining of their mouths, kissed her neck, pressing his lips against the fluttering of her pulse there.

Amelia groaned, but she wasn't going to be one-upped, not in any situation. She took a deep breath and..._Oh, right. Yes. You're absolutely correct. And then, of course, I was like this, I think? _ And she brought her leg up to wrap it around his thigh. Her hands slid up through his hair, cradled his face.

He brought his hands down to her hips, lower, supporting her, lifting her up and against him, pinning her between him and the wall with a little growling sound of approval. She wrapped her other leg around him, both settling high around his waist. His mouth sought hers, and he _took_, tongue sliding in as his mouth devoured, feasting hungrily. She clung to him, the hand in his hair tightly fisted. She stroked his temple, his face, and she felt his hips rock against her, once, twice, his hands gripping her hips.

He broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead against her shoulder a moment, and she felt a shiver slide through him. *_And mainly, of course, I think there was far less clothing in the original impeding progress...*_

She struggled against the sensations washing through the bond toward her, through the intensity of his wanting her and the reciprocal sensations it created in her to find a reply. Her mind couldn't seem to disengage from the image of the two of them naked against the TARDIS wall, that fantasy of hers she'd just come very close to living out... _See, _she managed,_ I **told** you we should have..._

_*Amusement / arousal / frustration / I know. I know. But not the first time. Another time. I promise. Come on...*_

III.

"I've decided I'm going to start keeping score of these things," she was saying as they stumbled around the corner.

"What? You're going to what? What things?" They were still holding hands, and he was looking at her incredulously.

"All the things you put off for later," she said with a vague gesture. "All the things you promise me," she said, and she poked him lightly in the chest with her free hand.

He caught her offending hand and rolled his eyes. "Good Lord, Amy. You're honestly standing there telling me you're going to keep a ...a... to-do list and check items off as I get to them, is that it?"

She grinned, evilly, leaning away from him, caught by both hands. "Might, yeah. Why? Is that a problem?"

"Only for you, Pond. Only for you. Have you never heard that old phrase about being careful what you wish for?" He pulled her back, reeling her in slowly toward him.

She laughed, teasing, taunting. "Ha. Yeah, well, I guess I'll worry about that when and _if_ I ever get it..."

He had drawn her against him and opened his mouth to deliver a very witty and not entirely tasteful reply when they heard a most unwelcome voice in the corridor up ahead echoing somewhere around the next couple of turns.

"Amy? Doctor? Is that you two? I've been looking for you for ages. I was wondering if either of you knew when we were going to be landing next..."

It had the effect of a bracing bucket of cold ice water dumped unceremoniously on the couple stumbling their way happily through the passages of the TARDIS. Amy actually flinched as if she'd been struck, and her color went pale, her large green eyes going huge in her face as she stared up at the Doctor. _Rory! How can I have just forgotten that he's here... Even though I don't want...even though he and I are... and the Doctor and I are... I can't just... I need to... Rory... _Without even thinking about what she was doing, she'd guiltily jerked backwards, pulling her hand free from the Doctor's when she'd heard Rory's voice and stepped just a little away from him, running her hand down the leg of her pants nervously.

The Doctor's reaction was less dramatic, but no less definite. Amy felt surprise followed by sharp pain and a flash of incandescent fury flow through the bond for a scant second, and then it was muted, hidden, gone. The last had come so fast she wasn't quite sure it had been there at all. She suddenly realized that the entire presence of him that she'd grown accustomed to so quickly was now largely absent, no more than a mere whisper of the sense of him remaining in her mind, and the loss of it was breathtaking. Her eyes met his in question, but she was stunned by the change in him. The happy, playful, open light she'd been seeing dancing in his eyes was extinguished. She could see the mask of distance, the armor of detachment, that slightly humored and terribly weary facade that he always wore for the world clicking back into place. A faint sardonic smile curve his lips to complete it. She saw something sharp-edged and dangerous was glittering now in his hooded eyes.

His gaze ran slowly over her, appraising, weighing, and he softly reached out and took her hand in his, gently caressing her hand once more. He bowed over it gracefully, a gesture she'd only ever seen in the theater or historical movies, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss whisper light to the back. It should have been silly, clownish, the sort of thing no modern man could pull off certainly, but from the Doctor, it was none of those things. There was something heartbreaking, elegant, tender, and sad in his gesture, in the way his eyes came up to meet hers for just a moment over their lightly-joined fingertips. Then the diamond-hardness returned to his gaze. He released her hand, turned, and walked away. He did not look back.

A moment later, Rory rounded the bend to find her standing in the same spot the Doctor had left her, staring down the corridor after him. Rory's puzzled, earnest gaze and tentative smile were almost more than she could bear.

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**Don't despair, but do review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: And on we go... Um, be careful in here. The quotes will warn you, but... This is not a happy place.

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Giving up doesn't always mean you are weak; sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go.

~Author Unknown

Relationships are like glass. Sometimes it's better to leave them broken than try to hurt yourself putting it back together.

~Author Unknown

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I.

The Doctor moved with deceptive composure through the long white corridors. His shoulders were straight. His pace was not noticeably faster or slower than usual. He trailed the fingertips of relaxed hands lightly along the walls to feel the hum of the TARDIS more distinctly through them. He did not miss the slightly dissonant note of worry in the song of her engines, and he relented, spared a thought from his tightly-controlled mind to soothe her as best he could. She took his effort for what it was, a token of affection, but she let him know that she was not deceived by his outer appearance. She could see the maelstrom inside.

He paused before a door at the end of a corridor and stood outside for a moment, simply resting his hand on the latch. Then he pushed the door open and walked into the darkened room beyond it. The door swung shut behind him soundlessly.

II.

Rory tentatively walked up to Amy and put his hand on her arm. Startled by the touch despite knowing he was there, she jumped slightly and looked down at his grasp and then blankly back up at his face.

"Amy," he said, his voice trailing off, "what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

She wrenched her mind away from trying to figure out what had just happened with the Doctor, away from her worries about the lack of his presence in her mind, away from her concerns over what his last gesture had meant, and tried to deal with the crisis currently standing in front of her. She wrapped her hand over Rory's, squeezed gently, forced a smile that she knew was at best pained-looking and awkward. "Come on. Come with me."

He followed along behind her, confusion and a growing dread written on his face. "Why? Where are we going? What's going on?"

When she remained silent, the confusion turned to frustration and he lashed out. He tugged on his hand until she was forced to release it. She stopped and turned to face him again. "I'm not moving another inch until you tell me what the hell is going on! You've been practically a ghost for almost a week. In the five or so minutes I have been able to see you, you've either snapped at me or looked through me, and I know, I know, just now that I heard the Doctor's voice..." He threw his hands up in the air. "So am I just getting paranoid, or is there something you'd like to tell me?"

She looked at him, and something in her eyes stripped the anger from him like a swift blow to the stomach. "Rory...I...We can't just stand around in the corridor all day, can we? Just come with me now, okay?" Her tone was very gentle, but he didn't miss the note of finality in it, and when she reached out for his hand again, he slipped his into hers without further question and they walked down the hall toward the kitchen in silence.

III.

They sat staring at each other across the wooden tabletop. There had been a smattering of small talk and she'd made tea, more out of the need to have something to do with her hands and her energy than out of any real desire for it. The pot and two mismatched mugs sat on the battered surface in front of them. She shifted her mug back and forth minutely, a black one bearing the logo "I (heart) New NY", restlessly swirling the brown liquid inside it. Rory was watching her now, waiting, his own mug steaming quietly and ignored. She was aware of his scrutiny, and finally, she could find no further delay.

"Rory..." How was she going to say this? She didn't want to hurt him. He had been her friend, one of her only friends for so long, and she didn't want to lose him. She paused, took a sip of her tea, frantically sought the right words, the magic words, the words that would solve this problem for her.

He waited another moment, shifted in his chair and finally spoke. "Amy, look. Whatever this is, you can tell me, you know? I mean, obviously, it's not good, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't look like death warmed over sitting there all twitchy with the mug, and we wouldn't be having this incredibly awkward moment over tea here in the kitchen."

She scowled down at the table and took her active hands off the mug. "I am not twitchy... I'm just..." She sighed as he gave her a pointed stare. "Okay, right. Not the main point of this conversation. Which to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how to start, so I'm just going to start here, and work my way in." When Rory nodded warily, she continued. "You know that when we were in the dream world and I lost you, I realized how much I loved you. So, when that dream ended and I found that you were still here, we entered into sort of a golden time, right?"

Rory leaned forward and he slipped his hand around hers gently. "I know. And it really has been golden. It was such a relief that you finally realized that we should be together..."

She turned her hand over in his and gently laced their fingers together. She took a deep breath, smiled a twisted little smile as she felt a sharp stab of pain at what she was about to do. "Rory, I want you to know that I really do love you. Very much, in fact. You have been my best friend since we were, what? Eight? You've been one of the only ones who would have anything to do with me. You never thought I was crazy, or if you did, you at least made out like crazy was okay in your world, which was as good as the other to me."

Rory was smiling at her, and she could see some of the tension in him starting to leave his body. She felt like she was about to kick a faithful dog, but in the long run this had to be done...

"Which is why I feel that I owe you the truth in everything. As soon as I know it. As close as I can tell it." Her voice was quiet, restrained, and she withdrew her hand from his, reached a trembling hand down to her pants pocket where the engagement ring he'd given her had been riding around with her these past few tumultuous days, and she laid it delicately on the table.

He stirred uncomfortably, looking from the ring wobbling gently there on the table and back to her. "Amy, what's this? What are you saying? Why aren't you wearing your ring?" There was both fear and anger in his voice.

"I think you know, Rory. I can't go on with this. I mean I do love you. I will always love you. But I don't love you the way I ought to if I'm going to marry you. You need someone who wants what you want, who loves you and who loves what you love, too. That's only right. You need somebody who wants to settle down in Leadsworth, to see all those sweet dreams you have through with you, and I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm the right girl for that. Not now, Rory. Not now, and probably not ever."

He exploded up from the table, stalked over to the sink. "That's only right? You'll always love me, but not enough to marry me? Not the right girl for it? What the hell is this stuff, Amy? And when did it all magically appear? Four days ago, we were fine. You were with me, and we were planning which house we might like to try for when we got home! Remember? We talked about staying in yours for awhile until I finished medical school, and then we were talking about moving into the village proper once we had our first..." He broke off suddenly, hit his fist on his thigh as his voice became too choked to continue for a moment. After a brief pause, he went on. "Now, now, you're going to sit here and tell me that, what? You'll always care for me, but shove off? So sorry about the whole marriage thing, but can't we still be friends? How can four days make such a difference?"

She stayed seated, swiveled to look at him. "Look, it's not just four days, alright? It's been..." her voice softened from the harsh tone it had adopted in reply to his accusing one. "...it's been a lot longer than that. I don't change my mind on a whim. You've known me long enough to know that, I hope. I had been seeing problems for awhile now, searching my soul, I guess if you want to use a cliche, trying to figure out what I should do about it, and then..." Her voice cut off, and she lifted the mug of tea again, took a long swallow. She did not continue. She suddenly didn't know how.

"And then what? What? The key to the mystery lies in whatever it is that you're not bloody saying, Amelia. What happened to owing me all the truth?"

She shook her head mutinously. "And then I had a moment of epiphany that made everything clear. That's what I'm trying to explain. I've been trying to get everything sorted out, and now that I have..."

He looked at her as though stunned, and then his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Oooh. _Epiphany_, eh? Very good. Euphemism. I get it now. Because it just occurs to me that not only have you been hard to find these last four days, so has the Doctor... Oh very nice. Very, very bloody nice. You make sure you tell him that one. He's probably not been called that before. God, but his ego will just lap that up like a cat with fucking cream, too." He crossed his arms over his chest, stared at her, hurt in his eyes. "And how was it? Your 'moment of epiphany'? Was it everything you hoped it would be all these years? Everything you've been missing with me? Did he _enlighten _you properly, then? Give you lots of new... _knowledge_?" His tone had the bitterness of heart's blood in it, sarcastic, ugly in only the way that someone who has been hurt deeply can make it, twisting common words so they had a vulgar, cheap, gutter feel to them.

A guilty blush raced up to flood her pale complexion. She shoved her chair back, and she walked over to the door. When she reached the hallway, she paused without turning, one hand resting on the doorframe as if for support. He heard her voice, very low, come back to him. "I didn't...We haven't even..." she stopped, looked down, and then she started again, her voice stronger. "You'll believe whatever you like, of course, but I want you to know it was over between you and me before any of _that_ particular moment of enlightenment started." She looked back over her shoulder at him, and he saw tears in her eyes before she looked away.

His voice calling out her name followed her down the corridor. The abandoned engagement ring she'd left behind continued to bounce light from its stone unabated as it softly rocked back and forth against the old wooden table.

IV.

The Doctor had been very still for a long time. He had come into the darkened room, paused long enough to kick off his shoes, and then he'd padded across floors of smooth wood. He did not need to see. He knew this space well even though he did not come here often as he might like. It was not always dark. There would be light in time, when it was needed. When he could tolerate it. For now, he needed darkness. And silence. Emptiness. A place in which to master himself.

_Because right now, I am dangerous. So very, very dangerous. As dangerous as anything ever backed up against any wall is, as dangerous as anything ever teased and tantalized too long is , as dangerous as any alpha male watching his female walk away... _

When she'd pushed him back and he'd heard the sudden emotional chaos in her head that Rory's voice had evoked, it had taken quite a lot of restraint on his part not to do something..._well, rash. Yes. That's a good word. Terribly, terribly rash._

Images had flashed momentarily of dragging Amy off into whatever room happened to be on hand nearby and simply taking what he wanted, finishing what he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they both wanted, of staking his claim. Because although he'd been going slow, taking his time, making sure they both enjoyed the moments, there had been no question about how much he had needed her, had wanted her, wanted her still... _Wouldn't have taken much coercion. Ha. Wouldn't have taken any coercion at all, actually..._ He'd known her physical condition better than she had herself, been able to scent her pheromones like an exotic perfume that called to him relentlessly for a response.

Other images had involved grabbing Rory, spinning the TARDIS randomly through the vortex and simply ejecting the hapless human on the first planet they came to regardless of what class planet it was and what period it happened to be experiencing... _There's always a chance he might survive it..._ The growling wolf in his head didn't really care if he did or not, of course.

Now the Doctor was folded on the floor, legs crossed into a seated position, sitting very still in the dark as he considered the situation again. Nothing moved in this space except the air, very lightly, very pleasantly. He had almost reached a point where he had the leading edge of his temper under control.

_It's not the sex that he interrupted. That, while nice, no, wait, while mindbogglingly more than nice, is not of highest significance here. There is, after all, always more sex. No. What is infuriating/enraging/bloodboiling/seven-suns-going-supernova here is that he took her away. Again. He shows up, and she chooses him. Just. Like. That. Has her tongue down my throat, her legs around my waist, her mind actually beginning to twine with mine, is bloody well doing things I have no IDEA where she could've possibly learned one minute and the next... The next, she's a flaming mass of guilt over it all just because she's heard that whining, puling voice. _

Letting her go had been so hard, but he was rather proud of himself for it.

_Yes. Didn't make any scenes, didn't throw the idiot bodily down the hall. Yes. Altogether commendable behavior on my part. Ought to get a bloody medal for it, I think._

He'd deliberately shut off the bond between them, reached out with the power of his mind like a strong hand and choked it closed. It had been a matter of survival for him. At that moment, to continue to hear her mind fluttering against his with so much distress and guilt while the taste of her was still on his lips would have driven him completely mad. _Also didn't really want her seeing the reaction to all that, did I? _He smirked in the darkness. He tilted his head softly. He could still sense her there behind the wall he'd put up. It would take time for it to wither away completely, and just the knowledge that he'd have to fight the temptation to sip from the sweetness that was _her, _the utter rightness and communion that was _them_ made a new wave of fury pass through him.

_Should have known better by now. What were you thinking? Whatever did you think would be the outcome of this? You should have known she'd go running back to him, back to one of her own kind... You're going to have to figure out a way to chain all that you dared to feel, to want, to hope back down, hide it all away again, stab it all through the heart if you have to until you know it's dead or at least docile once more. No matter what the cost to you is, personally. You knew that was a possibility when you let it out. The monster never gets the girl in these stories, you know... _

No. Stillness and contemplation weren't going to do it this time. He'd known that from the start, of course. That's why he'd turned his steps here when he'd left her. He'd known that this was the place to deal with the storm still raging in his heart, in his mind... He forced himself to his feet with a growl and he yelled, "Lights!"

Around the room, warm illumination sprang to life from no discernible source. Tall pillars made entirely of a solid block each of different types and colors of marble ringed the wooden floor, separating the larger inner area from the smaller outer area of the room. Around that outer perimeter of the room, there were bladed weapons of every conceivable type lining the walls. There were things that were recognizable as broadswords, spears, short swords, long swords, claymores, rapiers, daggers, sabers, katana, scimitars, and battle axes. Then there were all their variations and offspring that different peoples on different worlds had devised as ways of putting an end to each other with keen edges and wicked metals but were still mostly familiar to the eye. Here and there along the walls were also some exceptionally exotic pieces as well. Some looked as though a person might need more than just two hands to wield them. Some of the pieces were common-looking, hanging in racks with several of their kind. A few pieces that looked particularly wicked, valuable, or old were hung in special locked cases, and some three or four of those cases were actually set into the wall of the room itself, sealed shut with a great High Gallifreyan crest that had been pressed into a shimmering coppery metal while it was liquid, much like the impression in a wax seal might be formed, an indication that the object inside was not for use for any reason.

The Doctor did not take time to look at this remarkable collection. He knew what he was looking for. He walked directly over to a small flat case of polished reddish wood lying on a narrow, waist-high shelf. Flipping open the lid, he removed a beautifully-carved sword hilt of pale stone, one of the pair there. The workmanship of the item was quite ornate. There was no blade at all, only the carefully-wrought means for controlling one. He left its onyx-black mate in the box and walked back toward the middle of the open space inside the ring of columns. He paused long enough to shed his jacket and his bowtie and carelessly drop them on the bench he sat down on to put on the pair of shoes he retrieved from underneath it. He undid the first two buttons on his shirt, took up the sword hilt lightly in his left hand and walked out toward the middle of the floor beyond the ring of columns.

He held the hilt loosely in his left hand at his side as he took his place at the far end of the room on a marking on the floor. There were several such markings running down this particular portion of the floor in a long narrow strip. Each marking was inlaid into the floor by using a different color or type of wood. He fixed his gaze on the far end of the strip and waited a moment for something. When nothing happened, he called out in irritation. "Are you going to make me wait all day, then?" There was a shimmering at the end of the strip, and a figure was suddenly there, white from head to toe, lean, elegant, its face, if it had one, completely enclosed in a fencer's mask. Its hands were empty, fanned out to its sides. It bowed silently, slowly, moving with the carefulness of ritual.

"Yes, yes. You're taking all day with this. You know I've already chosen the weapon. Do get on with it," he muttered. He had no patience with the forms and protocols today...

The figure held its hand out to the side, rotated its wrist gracefully, and then it was holding a mate to his own sword hilt.

"Oh, look! You've got one, too, have you? How lovely for you. Now do you know which end of it goes up? Come. On!"

A beam of pale blue shot forward from the white figure's hilt and the Doctor sighed. "That's the best you can do, is it? This is going to be pitifully short..." The blue intensified, became neon, swirled for a moment with a suspicious gold twinkle around the edges that made him narrow his eyes. "No cheating now," he called out, muttering under his breath afterward, "Believe I've had enough of _that_ for one day, thank you very much." Without a sound, the white fencer began to advance.

"At last. Here we go." And he switched the hilt from left to right in the motion of one drawing a sword from a scabbard, brought his own sword hilt up, forced his mind to focus all the rage and fury he was feeling into the small rare crystal encased within the stone which created a blade of virulently glowing black light.

V.

Amy had left the kitchen looking for the Doctor. To hell with a reasonable cooling-off period. She needed him. She didn't understand his last gesture or the emotion she'd felt from him just before all the emotions from him had cut off, but she knew a goodbye when she got one. She was angry, she was hurt, she was tired, and by God, she was SO done with this crap for the evening. She was going to fix this thing with the Doctor before her life got any more soap opera melodramatic than it already was. She was pacing down the corridor she'd last seen him in with angry strides, trying her best not to let the tears she felt welling up behind her eyes or the anger she was feeling at men in general get the better of her.

She walked and looked for the better part of an hour before she stopped and leaned frustrated against a wall. She looked up into the soft glow of the ceiling. "So where the hell is he, then?"

She felt something like a tiny nudge in the back of her mind. She froze. She even held her breath.

_What the..._

It came again, faint, ever so faint, a tiny tug, a feeling that she should go _that way_...

It felt like...it felt like...cinnamon and wild spices. It felt like a strong storm sweeping toward her, a rumble of very distant thunder, more felt than heard.

"Okay. So, what else have I got to do with my time?" She muttered, combing her hair back from her face and setting off in the direction this new sense seemed to indicate was right.

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**Oh, and it's SOOOO not a light saber. I promise. So just get that right outta your head. Doesn't even look like one. Scout's honor.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I can't help it. I saw two of my favorite filmed fencing scenes today: the one between Tyrone Power and Basil Rathbone in a Zorro movie I'm embarrassed to say I can't remember the title of and the one between Inigo Montoya and Westley in his Dread Pirate gear in _The Princess Bride_. I am in a swordy mood. And history has taught us that the Doctor does indeed fence. (Must be all that Shakespearean training he's had over the years... ;) )**

**As for the white fencer, the inspiration for that figure comes from a variety of places, including but not limited to the one you can use for a visual. Think the Stig, but taller, in fencing mask instead of a racing helmet, and no Hammond/May/Clarkson funny at all. (and if you don't watch _TopGear_, my apologies)

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There is a great streak of violence in every human being. If it is not channeled and understood, it will break out in war or in madness.

~Sam Peckinpah

He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.

~Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

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I.

She'd followed the tug, and soon the tug became more like a whisper. It was indistinct, like someone trying to hide a secret conversation across the room, but it was so familiar. There were almost pieces of words in it, but she couldn't catch them. She walked on.

II.

The white fencer was very, very good. Even with a weapon as unusual as the one the Doctor had chosen, one requiring such total precision and focus to control, the white fencer never wavered. The color of his (her?) blade never changed, except once or twice, the Doctor thought he saw a little flicker of gold just out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't quite catch it, though, and he had other matters to attend to, such as...

Parry.

Riposte.

Lunge.

Parry, and get back into position, moving quickly backwards to avoid being cut by the blue blade as it sliced through the air in front of his face.

A manic smile, so tense as to look like a grimace, strained his face. The light of his blade was still glowing black, that shade beyond the other colors, still fueled by the darkness inside him. He feinted delicately, trying to draw out the white fencer, but ice water apparently ran inside his (her?) veins. The white fencer patiently waited then parried the Doctor's attack gracefully.

_Wonderful match, this. Perfect, and perfectly what I needed. _

The white fencer overextended ever-so-slightly in an aggressive riposte, and the Doctor tapped the blade away and went in for the kill with a cry.

III.

The whisper grew to a murmur, and the murmur to a grumbling like the sound waves make as they crash on rocky shores. She knew she had to be getting closer.

"You know," she mused to the ceiling, the mental tug getting irritating, "just for future reference, a big yellow painted arrow would be a heck of a lot clearer and easier to follow."

As she rounded the next bend, she became aware that the hallway ended ahead. She sighed. "At last. And if he's not behind one of these doors, I'm going to be furious with somebody." She edged forward cautiously, and the tidal roar became the rumble of thunder from a summer storm that was about to break.

IV.

Although his Time Lord mental training amply prepared him for the task of connecting with the telepathically-sensitive crystal in the sword's hilt with only moderate effort, the Doctor had allowed his concentration to become completely focused on channeling the necessary mental energies to the blade to keep it corporeal and on the other elements of the match itself. The complexities of it allowed him respite from his problems. Not for nothing was the sport referred to as physical chess. In an effort to purge the pain he was feeling, he was narrowing down his sphere of focus to just this blade, just this opponent, just _this_ space at _this_ time. The grand whole of time and space, that beautiful puzzle that existed outside this room and usually enchanted him, held no appeal for him just now, filled with despair and the impending wasteland of self-denial as he perceived it to be. He had kept no awareness, then, to spare for the soundless inching-open of the door or for the slim figure who slipped inside, closed it quickly, and pressed herself against one of the marble columns

Instead, he was currently being forced back step by reluctant sliding step towards the back of the piste. He was laughing like a madman, teeth bared in defiance, his blade flashing like dark lightning against the electric blue of the white fencer's. There were several odd scorched holes on his sleeves, one on his chest right over one of his hearts, and he looked more like Amy's Raggedy Doctor than she had seen him since that night so long ago when he'd stolen the clothes from the lockers in the deserted hospital. Amy's eyes were huge as she watched him wielding the bizarre blade.

He made a fancy circling gesture with his wrist, and his blade dipped under and around the white-fencer's and slid home to touch white fencer hard enough on his (her?) chest to force him (her?) to take a full step backwards. No burn spot appeared on the spotless white front, and the white fencer stood motionless.

"Oh, come on, come on, where's your sense of fairness? Nothing? You know I got you. 'A touch, a touch, I do confess it,' something, come on!" The Doctor waved his blade at the white fencer.

Almost reluctantly it seemed, a spot of red appeared on the snowy jacket, flared bright, and then faded out. Then the fencer saluted and moved back to his (her?) starting mark.

"Such a graceless loser you are! Have I complained even once? And you've _completely_ ruined one of my favorite shirts, by the way." He plucked at the sleeve lightly. "This one will have to go in the rag bin. Nothing for it..." The white fencer started to flicker. "Oh no, you don't. I'm not nearly done with you. _En garde_!"

The white fencer solidified and saluted again, moved into the ready position, and the two began the dance again.

V.

Amy couldn't remember when she'd seen anything quite as mesmerizing as the Doctor fencing. He was totally absorbed in the sport, and he fought like he did everything else, with passion and determination. What was going on here was not quite what she would call enjoyment. She wasn't quite sure how she knew that, but she knew that what she was seeing was something...else. Something...other.

She couldn't put her finger on it, quite. It was frustrating. It was like something half-forgotten, something stuck just there on the tip of the tongue, important, vital, but inaccessible. It sat there just in the back of her mind, just beyond her awareness...

He yelled in frustration and pain as the white fencer slid under his guard to score another touch, and she saw why the blade had ruined his shirt as the white fencer's touch seared a neat rip in his shirt near the other over his right heart and an angry red welt appeared as well on his pale skin beneath. She stared at the little wound, heart pounding in her throat. When he'd yelled, she'd felt a surge of his emotions through the bond for just a moment, flood waters escaping a dam spillway, and she was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of...

_*/RAGE/FURY/DESPAIR/SELF-HATRED/JEALOUSY/FRUSTRATION/*_

_Oh no. Ohnoohnoohno. That has to be wrong. That can't be what he's really feeling..._

She edged closer, forced to cling to the column for support but desperate suddenly for a better angle of the combat. She felt slightly dizzy from the burst of his emotions. Her eyes continued to follow the movement, but her mind was worrying over the glimpse into him she'd gotten. It had been nothing like what she'd felt when they'd been together. Instead, every feeling inside him was razor-edged, larger-than-life, and bitter. There was no sweetness, nothing gentle, nothing light or good in the dark swirl that had streamed from him. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a sudden chill and she slid down the column to sit at its base.

_What's happened to him?_

VI.

With a final thrust, the Doctor scored one last touch against the white fencer. The red spot flared briefly against his opponent's torso. "Ah-ha yeah!" he crowed, holding the extension just a moment more.

As it always did after a touch, the fencer returned to its ready pose, waiting to see if he was going to start another match. He'd had enough, though, had channeled off some of the most aggressive edge of his darkness, and breathing hard from his exertions, he shook his head and raised the hilt in a quick salute. The white fencer returned it and faded away into the nothingness from which it had come.

The Doctor released the portion of his mental focus required to maintain the blade and it disappeared, too. He made a sound of relief. While all the exercise, both mental and physical, had been absolutely necessary and felt very good, it was also good now to stop. He walked over to a bench and picked up a folded towel, laid the sword hilt carefully down on the remaining pile, and wiped the sweat off his face. He paused for a moment suddenly, going completely still as if he'd heard a noise, looked up at the ceiling, and an odd smile flickered over his face. He hung the towel around his neck, and he started to pace the inner area of the room slowly, leisurely, cooling down.

He walked for a minute or two, and Amy watched him through the obstructions of the columns. He moved right by the column she was hiding behind, but he gave no sign that he knew she was there. He simply kept circling the room, pausing once or twice to run his hand appreciatively along one or two of the more exotic specimens of the stone columns, but never any of the ones too near her hiding place. Finally, when his circuit brought him back to the bench again, he sat down on it, and he pulled the towel from his neck, tossed it to the side, and leaned against the high curving back of the bench. He laid his arms along the back and let his head fall backwards, his eyes sliding closed, becoming perfectly still.

Amy began to inch toward the door as furtively as possible. He didn't seem to be aware of anything in the room, hadn't seemed to notice her presence, and as tired as he should be right now, she thought she could get away without his ever knowing she'd been there. Suddenly it seemed of paramount importance to her that she get out without his knowing that she was there... The bench was located in such a place that she didn't think he'd have a full view of the door even if he sat up. The reddish marble column should give her a screen to slip out. And she fully intended to do so. Her desire to talk to him had evaporated as she'd realized what his current mood was, as she'd seen that dark storm of emotion inside him.

_Time, _she thought. _We both need a little time before we try to...before we... before I... Oh hell. I have no idea whatsoever about how to end that sentence. I'm going to my room. I'm going to sleep. Today has just been too much on every possible front._

She actually had her hand on the door when his voice broke the silence.

"Now that's not the Pond _I_ know."

Her head whipped around, startled, as she looked at him. He had not moved at all, still sat sprawled on the bench, head fallen back, long legs carelessly splayed in front of him, eyes closed. For a moment, a scant moment, she managed to convince herself she'd imagined that comment and she turned back, took a breath and inched her fingers toward the latch.

"I've never known you to be daunted by anything. Not Daleks. Not Angels. None of the things that go bump in the night ever scare Amelia Pond. Bold as brass, you are."

She hadn't imagined that. No way she could convince herself that slightly mocking tone was her imagination. She put her forehead against the cool surface of the door.

"Or...is it that this time, you've suddenly realized that what's after you is something...dare I say it, more dangerous?" His voice was much closer to her this time.

She turned and pressed her back against the door. Somehow he'd covered the distance between them in those very few frantic heartbeats between his comments. He was now leaning with deceptively languid ease against the red column, arms folded, head tilted to rest against the bloody stone. He ran his gaze over her thoroughly, and when it met hers again, he smiled. It was one of the most unpleasant things she'd ever seen, cold and dispassionate as arctic glaciers and at complete contrast with the savage storm in his eyes.

"Hello," he murmured softly, giving her a little finger wave. He did not move in any other way. "Run."

She swallowed and her hand fumbled behind her for the latch again. She managed to get the door open and she did just as he'd told her. She didn't look over her shoulder and she didn't stop until she'd slammed the door of her own room shut and was holding it shut, shaking in a mixture that was equal parts fear, anger, exhaustion, and misery.

VII.

In her dreams, she was seeking something she could not find. There was something missing from this place in which she found herself, something she continually pursued while she herself was pursued by a towering masked figure dressed all in white with a sword like lightning who could appear and disappear with the speed of thought. She could not see its face, but she knew it must not find her, that it would destroy her if it did. She'd been in this endless room of columns that stretched to the sky, all of them casting long shadows in senseless directions for hours, maybe days. In the way of dreams, there was no time here. Maybe she had always been lost here. Maybe there was no other place. That thought made her cry. She was so sure that there had been some other place, some place she did not have to be afraid, once, but now...

She could not hide from the white fencer in the criss-crossing shadows of the columns. There was no safety to be had there. She had tried that. In the shadows of those columns there was something...something she'd not been able to see clearly, something that had watched her with hungry green-gold reflective eyes and a low, thunder-bass growl waiting for her to spend too long in the darkness.

There was no safety anywhere, no refuge. She fled the fencer only to run from the beast. The singing of the blade of light was replaced immediately with the growl of the hunting thing that sought her in the shadows. She had just stumbled into the darkness running away from a stroke of the white fencer's sword only to see the laughing teeth of the thing in the darkness descending toward her throat when she jerked awake.

When she knew where she was again, she looked around her room. Her eyes fell on the door in a panic, but the heavy dresser she'd childishly shoved in front of her bedroom door still stood sentinel there. She felt more than a little foolish as she remembered the effort involved in getting it to slide over into that position, but also, although as the dream began to fade she was more and more reluctant to admit it, relieved that it was there...

_Haven't done anything like that in years. Haven't had nightmares like that, though...in...in... I don't know if I've ever had nightmares like those..._

She contemplated trying to go back to sleep, wondered if she might be able to have better dreams now, closed her eyes against the tiredness.

Then she heard the soft knock against her door.

VIII.

He'd watched her run away, fought some dark, hell-borne impulse from his blackest nature to chase. To chase her down the hall and continue his cruelty or to chase her and pin her against a wall, take her strawberry kisses seasoned with tear-salt until all trace of sadness and ability to think was lost in the heat of desire, he wasn't sure which. His hands curled into fists as he continued to stand there for long moments after she was gone, hating himself, angry with her, bitter with the situation. Finally, he pushed away from the column with a noise of disgust and packed away the sword hilt, closed the box, and left to go find a shower.

He stood under the hot water, the temperature turned up as high as he could bear it, as if he could somehow wash himself clean of all of it, of what he'd just done, of the moment with Rory, of everything that had gone before, all of it.

_I shouldn't have said that to her. That wasn't...I didn't... Damn. Even for me, that was above and beyond in pure nastiness. _

A part of him argued that she'd started it, she'd gone off with Rory, abandoned him, and...

_And so what? So what if she did? And I don't know what she did, actually. All I know is that she was confused. It is a bit confusing, isn't it? I'm 907, and I don't know what the hell is going on here, so perhaps I need to be a little more tolerant, give her a little more of the doubt before I just make assumptions, jump to conclusions that may or may not be true..._

The other part spluttered, trying to hold on to dying anger, fading rage that she had picked Rory before. Wasn't it foolish to hope that she wasn't picking him now? Hadn't she probably sought out the Doctor to let him down easy or some other such romantic Earth nonsense?

The Doctor put his head under the steaming spray, rinsing away the last of the soap, feeling the heat soak into his tired muscles.

_It's possible. I'll even go so far based upon past experience as to say it's likely. But if that's what she wants to tell me, then so help me, she gets her chance with no more dramatics on my part. She deserves that. I'll go and see her first thing tomorrow. Today has been long enough for everyone._

And he switched off the spray and got out to dress, limbs heavy with weariness.

IX.

The Doctor sat bolt upright in his bed. The book he'd fallen asleep reading tumbled to the floor as he scrambled upright. He grabbed at a thick robe hanging inside an ornately carved wardrobe and shoved his arms into it, and then he was flinging the door to his room open and running down the hall with the robe flapping open around him like great blue wings.

He'd heard Amy's dreams, his mind opening to hers involuntarily as they both slept, the loneliness and sadness in him reaching out for the comfort of her thoughts. When her nightmare had begun, he'd heard her terror, her fear, her sadness, and he'd been pulled along with her as she'd run with no place of solace, no place of safety. He'd felt her searching, seeking, felt her unconscious mind grasping out in the darkness for what it lacked, but he could not supply it even though he ached to. Because of the incompleteness of their bond, he'd only been able to experience it with her. He had not been able to direct her dream from where he was, nor had he been able to send her any comfort. It had been like watching her suffer from behind thick glass, helpless to do more than beat against the barrier in frustrated futility._ Useless. Once again, I'm useless to her...  
_

He'd also known beyond a doubt from looking at the world of terror she was trapped in exactly what had created it, and it was another knife in his heart. He understood all too well exactly who was behind the mask of the fencer in white and exactly whose wolfish eyes gleamed in the deep shadows beyond. When the shadow creature had finally attacked her, her terror had caused her to awaken, and he'd awakened, too.

Now he needed to see her, to hold her...

_To apologize if there's any way I can. Oh Amy. What have I done?_

He knocked lightly on the door.

X.

Amy's heart jumped into her throat and her hands gripped the coverlet before she could stop herself. Then she forced herself to calm down.

_Get a grip. You're hardly going to open that door and see a fencer or a wolf, are you, now? _

She pushed out of the bed and padded over to the door. She paused there uncertainly. "Who is it?" She tried to make her voice sound as normal as possible.

"Amy...it's me. Could I...could I come in a moment?"

_Oh well, worse than both, then, isn't it?_

She was suddenly ridiculously glad for the heavy old piece of furniture there in front of the door.

"Oh, Doctor, it's you, is it?...well, I'm not really dressed for visitors just now. How about...how about I see you later, okay?"

There was a pause. "Amy. Please. Let me in." He said it softly, gently, and she had the sudden vision of him standing with head bowed, his forehead just touching the door, hands gently pressed to the surface.

She sighed and grabbed up her dressing gown, wrapping it around her and tying it off before turning back to the dresser.

"Alright, but you're going to have to give me a minute."

She shoved the solid, carved furniture hard, and after a few moments, it slid back into roughly the same place it usually stood. She unlocked the door and moved back to her bed, sat on it cross-legged, and called, "Come on in."

The Doctor's head peeked around the door with a curious expression. "Call me crazy, but I could have sworn I heard you moving furniture about in here..."

She gave him a deliberately blank look, eyebrows raised, and shook her head slightly.

"Ah. Well..." He stepped in and pushed the door closed. For a moment, he just wandered around, hands shoved in his robe pockets. He looked at the few small items she had kept from here and there on their travels, pulled a hand out of his robe and ran a fingertip across the surface of the dresser's top, a tiny little smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He could see slight scuff-marks on the floor from where the dresser had been moved...

"You wanted something, Doctor?" Her tone was frosty, irritable. _What the hell is he doing? After last night, what could possibly be so urgent that he just has to see me? If he thinks we're going to have any more of __**anything**__ we had yesterday, oh boy, is he sadly mistaken..._

"Did I? Oh, yes. I did." He crossed the room and stood by her bed. "I just needed to see you to make sure you were okay."

"Okay? Sure. I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I just thought that..."

"I mean, sure, yesterday you kissed me, well, lots more than kissed me, right? And then you left me standing there in the hall and just walked off without a single word. But don't worry, Doctor. I'm okay."

Something like alarm appeared on his face. _Perhaps this was not a good idea._

"And then I had to have an exquisitely painful conversation with my best friend since childhood where I told him that no, I wouldn't be marrying him after all, and he responded by calling me an individual of loose moral character more or less, but sure, Doctor. I'm okay..."

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. _Yes. Definitely. This was a bad idea. _"Amy," he tried gently. _Wait. What did she say about the Nose? _But she kept right on going. In fact, she was gaining speed now.

She got up from the bed, stood right in front of him. "No. You _do not_ get to talk. You _always_ talk. Right now, you get to _listen_. After all of that, after all of the joy, after all of the rollercoaster ride, I just wanted to see you, talk to you, tell you what had happened, figure out what was wrong with you, and when I went to find you, you were..." Her hands fluttered as she looked for the words. "You were terrible...and...scary... and...and.. dark... and _hateful_ to me. On purpose!" She was getting louder.

"Amy, please," he said, gently capturing the hands that had begun to stab at his chest to punctuate each word. She was hitting the wounds he'd received from the white fencer's sword, but he had taken each tiny burst of pain as no more than his due. "Listen to me. I'll not deny a word you say, and I will give you my personal permission to scream at me until you're blue in the face after I'm done, but please, right now, just listen, okay?"

She tugged at his grip, muttering mutinously, but she nodded.

"Can we sit down, then?"

"Fine." She flopped back down on the bed with ill grace and tucked her feet up again, wrapped her arms around her knees, a defensive position. "Be my guest."

He hesitated a moment and then sat down leaving a little gap between them. He stared down at the colorful rug that covered the floor beside her bed, pushing the tassels with his toes.

"I want to start out by saying that I'm sorry for my behavior in the Armory. It was inexcusable. No matter what I was feeling, no matter what I... I'm sorry, Amy, deeply, truly sorry. I should never have taken any portion or degree of it out on you."

He turned his head and looked at her with a brief, small, pained smile. "I did warn you, though. I'm not always... sometimes I ...I can't always be..." He stopped and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looked at her with beseeching eyes. "Amy..."

She stared at him for a moment before speaking. "I can understand that you can't always be sweetness and light. I've never said I expect it." This was said softly, slowly. "What I can't understand is why you went from a lover holding my hand to...to...what you were when I saw you last last night. What the hell happened, Doctor? That's what I need to understand. That's what I need you to tell me. I don't need another warning. And, although I appreciate the apology, it's not really helping me with the root of the problem, either. Because, you see, until I understand what took you from the man I trust, the man who was holding me, laughing with me, kissing me, to the man who could look me in the eye and smile that terrible smile and then tell me to run and _mean it_, I don't see any real purpose in us having any more conversation. Do you?"

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**….and if you're nice and review, aunty nemain might have another chapter ready and waiting for you... :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Once again, my reviewers rock. I love you, too. As for the story, I know, I know. It's dark and angsty. Persevere, dear reader. Persevere. If you've made it this far, you can see the light at the end of the angst tunnel. Probably. Mwahahaha... This is the end of the mega block of posts. It might slow down just a touch after this one.  


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Assumptions are the termites of relationships. ~Henry Winkler

Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endureth his torments willingly. ~Proverb

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I.

She was waiting for an answer. It wasn't what he'd expected. To be honest, he hadn't had any expectations or firm plans when he'd shown up outside her door still feeling the after-effects of her dream racing through him. He didn't have to be a Time Lord to understand that this was one of those moments where everything hung in the balance, where everything turned, a pivotal incident.

_Almost think I'd rather have a blaring klaxon in the background, some sort of doomsday countdown rattling on, you know, or be chained to something about to explode with some evil madman laughing in glee, _he thought desperately._ That sort of thing I'm used to. This, though, this...now I'm in unfamiliar territory... _Yet there she sat, so obviously waiting for the right words. He took a deep breath and began.

"Yesterday, when Rory showed up and you pushed me away, I saw how... uncertain... you were about us. And I understand that, Amy. I want you to know that. I do understand how you could be uncertain about it. I mean, this thing we have is a bit unusual to say the least, complicated, and you've been with Rory for a long time, after all..." _No, I don't. Okay? I don't see how you could be uncertain about anything that involves comparing what you have with me to what you have with...the Nose. That, that was a whopping great lie. But I'm going to tell it anyway because it seems appropriate at this juncture. Graceful and gentlemanly and noble and appropriate. See how good I am today? How sweet and tame? I'm practically made of spun sugar... Rassilon._

She stirred. "_That's _what all this is about? You've been in a black funk because you think I chose Rory over you? And you've based this on, what, then? My pulling away from you in the hall?" He nodded, a little uncertain now himself. She looked at him in muted fury. "For someone who is supposed to be so remarkably clever, you are the_ thickest_ person I know sometimes, you know that?" And she picked up the pillow next to her on the bed and she hit him with it as a vent for her overwhelming frustration.

II.

He sat in stunned disbelief.

"I'm sorry. Did you just hit me with...a pillow?"

"See how thick you are?" And she hit him again, rising up on her knees to smack the soft instrument with surprising force straight down on top of his head. "Don't even know a pillow when you somebody hits you with one..." She tagged him sideways once more, just for the satisfying feel of it, and sat back again. She was panting slightly from the effort, her eyes slightly wild. His hair stood out at an odd angle and his eyes were wide.

"Feel better?" he asked lightly.

"Some. Might have to do that again in a minute, though."

"Ah. Well, just so I know it's coming, I suppose..." A little grin cracked his serious expression. She felt her own lips curve reluctantly in answer.

"Just before you...ahm...had that moment of catharsis...somewhere along in there did I understand you to imply that you were no longer engaged to young Rory?"

Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened on the pillow again.

"No, Amelia, this is serious to me. Please."

"That's what I came to tell you last night, but you were all busy being Mr. Scary Sword and threatening me."

He winced as though struck again. "Well," he said, holding the lapels of the robe open and peering inside theatrically to reveal nothing more dangerous than oddly-patterned pajamas. "I don't seem to have any weapons on me at the moment...so..." He looked up at her, waited.

She sighed, pulled the pillow into her lap, began to fiddle with the stitching on the edge of the case.

"I took him to the kitchen, made him some tea, and told him...told him...that I didn't want to marry him anymore. He didn't take it very well. I mean, I guess I never expected that conversation to be easy, but the things he said..." Tears shone in her eyes, and she blinked them back, refused them release. _No use in crying. No use in crying over any of it. _Her fingertips worried the threads of the pillowcase frantically.

The Doctor didn't say anything, but he reached across the small distance and he captured her fidgeting hand in his. He fully expected her to pull away and was deeply gratified when her fingers twined together with his instead.

"What bothered you most about it?" he asked gently.

"That he made assumptions...just like you... only about us. His mighty male logic told him that the reason I was leaving him was because we...because you and I..." She didn't finish the sentence. A tear escaped, and she pulled her hand from his to rub it away angrily.

"I'm tired of that, you know."

"Sure you are. You've every right to be." A pause. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of you two, of the two of you deciding you know exactly what I'm thinking or feeling or wanting or whatever and then going off on dramatic tangents over it. Do neither of you ever think just ask me? You know, open your mouth and put it to the question? Would that be so bloody difficult? Rory sure that I want marriage and babies right away and that tiny village for the rest of my life..."

Here, it must be admitted, the Doctor smirked. Amy saw it unfortunately, and her venting spilled over onto him. She rose up on her knees and she edged closer to him, pushing her finger into his chest.

"...and you every bit as smug, sitting there, every bit as bad, trying to decide my future for me, walking away from me with a bow and a kiss in the hall, giving up on me, on us, on whatever this thing we have is instead of staying to see what might happen next, making me so mad at you I could just spit. And if you ever, ever, ever pull that 'Run' stuff on me again, by all that's holy, I will pick up the first heavy object I can find, and I'll...I'll... bash you with it!"

With her last statement, she shoved him hard, and with a little hiss of pain, he fell over on the bed, his hand coming up to his chest protectively.

Instantly, her anger dissipated, and she scooted over to peer down into his face, holding her long hair back out of her way.

"Doctor? What is it? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to push you quite that hard...I was just so mad..."

"Next time," he panted, "won't complain about the pillow..." He managed a little smile, but it faded.

"I hurt you. Let me see."

"No. Wasn't you. It's fine, Amy. Just leave it. I'm fine now." His voice did sound stronger, but she remained unconvinced. Something wasn't right. He tried to sit up, and she put her hand lightly on his shoulder. For a moment, they had a silent battle of the wills, eyes clashing. Finally he relaxed back against the mattress.

"Fine. But you're worrying over nothing, I assure you."

She poked him lightly in the center of his chest and when he flinched, she gave him a level look. "Oh sure. Nothing. _Right_."

She began opening buttons on his pajama top and had only undone the first two when she began to see the livid marks on his chest.

"Doctor..."

He was staring up at the ceiling with a stoic expression. She undid the rest of the buttons and found that his torso was covered by several shallow cuts and a couple of deeper gouges all with seared edges as though an extremely sharp hot blade had cut him and cauterized its own wounds at the same time. She knew immediately what had caused the lacerations. For a moment, she just looked at the damage he'd allowed to be done to his body, and she shivered slightly.

"Sit up."

For the first time, he looked at her.

"Amelia," he began.

"You heard me."

He pushed himself into a seated position again with some difficulty, and she slipped the robe and his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders gently. She remembered his ragged and burned shirt from the battle the day before, and she had a theory she wanted to prove... Sure enough, as the clothing slid from his body, more of the burn/cuts were exposed to her view. There were none on his shoulders, but there was a long one on the arm that had held the blade, and one slight one on the off arm as well. His back was free of them, she was pleased to note.

"Are they on your legs as well?" Her eyes met his, and for a moment he just gazed back at her. Then he looked away. She thought for a moment he would not answer.

"No. In the form of swordplay I favor for sport, the legs, the head, and the back are not legal targets. I left those safeties on and didn't let it cheat too much."

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to pull him to her, but to do that would undoubtedly cause him pain. She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled in that stubborn Time Lord head. He watched the emotions flowing over her face, sensed them from the close proximity they shared.

"All this, all this you did to yourself, all this you _allowed_ to be done, because you thought I'd picked Rory. What did this even accomplish? What good was this even going to do?" She traced her finger near one of the worst, a circular wound the size of a large coin over one of his hearts. She shivered, able to imagine all too well the white fencer's blade thrusting straight in to create it. _It must have hurt so badly..._

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to him, directly over the slow steady beat of his heart, directly over the gash she knew had to cause him pain. "What good was this going to do? You still don't understand, do you? You want to know why I walked away from you when Rory appeared, why I didn't stay and fight for you or cause some other kind of scene? You don't understand why I went into that room and fought something else instead, gave as good as I got believe it or not, allowed my body to come to physical harm? I did all this because it was the only _safe_ thing, the only _good_ thing I could do then. Because I could destroy myself a little, slowly, cut by cut, and not destroy any-bloody-thing else. And, oh, Amy, I wanted to destroy something else. _Someone _else. I wanted to." He laughed a little, bitterly. "I could destroy some of the darkness inside myself, some of the monster," she pulled against him, murmured a negation, and he squeezed her hand with his own. "No, Amelia, you know it's here. Didn't you see it? _Didn't you have to run from it, just a few hours ago?_ I could destroy some of that howling worthless beast instead of destroying something more precious, more valuable." He reached out his hand and stroked her hair gently, allowed his fingers to graze her cheek just for a moment before pulling his hand away again. "Because if you'd chosen him, Amy, then that was your rightful choice, and maybe, truly, that was the _right_ choice, too. The one the universe was going to rain down its capricious blessing on. Who am I to stand in the way of that? No matter how much I might want you, need you. So I chose to turn and walk away. It was the one good thing I could do, the only unselfish thing I could figure out how to do, even though it hurt every bit as much as these..."

Tears were running down her cheeks and she pressed her fingers over his mouth. "Stop. Stop it." She could still feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the counterpoint of the other on the other side, under her other hand.

He kissed her fingertips gently, took that hand in his as well and he pulled her down to lay beside him "And now I've made you cry as well. That's the trifecta, isn't it? Come here."

At first she resisted, murmuring, "No, your arms..."

He only smiled and shook his head. "Ah, well... Gingers are a panacea. Didn't you know? Thought everybody knew that... Best medicine in the world." She rested her head lightly on his shoulder, carefully trying not to touch any part of him that might cause him pain. He wound an arm around her loosely. He felt the dampness of her tears continue to touch his skin periodically. For long moments they lay in silence. She gently traced the cut across his heart again.

"Isn't there something you can do for yourself in the TARDIS medi-bay to ease some of the pain or heal it more quickly? It must hurt terribly."

He shook his head. "Type of weapon. The blades are forged with raw psychic power, fueled by emotions. They pack one hell of a wallop with all that behind them. They can cut through almost anything with the right emotion behind them and the right amount of control shaping that feeling. The making of them is, mercifully, a lost art. Only a few races could ever wield them, anyway, and they, for the most part, are long-gone, now, too. Anyway, the damage they do to living flesh doesn't repair easily, even with the technology I have on-hand here. I have a salve I'll put on again later that will help somewhat, but there is no quick fix for this. Fortunately, though, I do tend to heal fairly quickly. The small cuts should be gone pretty fast, probably by this afternoon."

"And the larger ones? This one?"

"It will take me a little time to heal them. Maybe two days. And, of course, should it happen to scar, it will serve as a visible reminder for me to be faster on my feet next time." He smiled, gently.

She looked up at his eyes. "Let's not have a next time."

His smile disappeared, and he looked away. "Ah, Pond. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

III.

They lay together on the bed face-to-face. She'd forced him to get up and turn to lie on the bed properly so their legs weren't hanging off awkwardly. He'd slipped his pajama top back on and left it unbuttoned. She'd shrugged out of her robe before pulling the coverlet over them both.

"I had such a nightmare before you came. It had to be about that place from last night," she told him.

"Will you get angry and try to hit me with something if I tell you that I know about that?" he asked.

She grinned. "Maybe. Try it and see."

He smirked. "Violent to the core, you are sometimes...That's why I came knocking so early this morning, actually."

"Did you really see it, then?"

He nodded solemnly. "Frightful place. Definitely not a holiday spot."

"It really was." She shivered. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him under the covers. She carefully slid her hand around him to hold him in return, grateful for the contact.

"I have to apologize for that as well, I suppose."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, because everything in it was so clearly a product of your run-in with me. The menacing fencer in white with the blazing sword? The wolfish creature in the shadows stalking you? The room with columns where there is no safety and where nothing makes any sense at all? Any of this sounding familiar?"

She snorted. "And don't we have an overinflated sense of self-worth today?" Then she yawned before continuing, turning her face against his shoulder sleepily when it was done before she answered. "No. Really. I'd actually figured out all that for myself, pretty much. But you're wrong about something. You weren't really the wolf in the darkness or the masked figure with the sword. You weren't the scary things in the dream because I'm not afraid of you. Even though you like to think I am and play the heavy at times." Her voice was getting drowsy. Lack of sleep and some mild resolution to the turmoil that had plagued her, even if there was more to discuss later on, was catching up with her.

"Wasn't I? Didn't I appear in this dream at all then? Careful how you answer. You're going to damage my precious ego, Pond." He watched her eyelids droop, flutter, open again.

"Ha. Two armored divisions couldn't damage your precious ego. You _were_ there, actually. You were the thing I was looking for, but I could never find. You were the goal of my quest, the only good thing in all that nightmare."

Their heads were so close together. He looked at her sleepy green eyes and at the earnestness he saw in them. He looked down for a moment at the lips that were so near his own. He thought about it for long moments, saw her bite her full bottom lip gently and release it, and he sighed softly, decision made. He leaned across the scant few inches separating them and he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Sleep, Pond. You're almost gone now, anyway. I'll be right here to keep the other monsters away. Should they drop in again while you're dozing, I'll tell them they're poaching my private reserves."

She snorted and snuggled against him. "Silly Doctor. Don't you know you're supposed to be the hero of this bit?"

He stroked her hair back from her forehead gently, tucking it behind her ear, listening to the sound of her breathing falling into slumber and simply choosing to call the little touches of pain from where she was pressed against his wounded body too tightly another kind of happiness. _Because at least we're together. Some things are all in how you see them after all. What's that line from __Hamlet__? There's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so? I guess I'll take that as my new motto... If you believe that, then pain can be a blessing sometimes, I suppose. Much in the same way a selfish old monster can be a hero if you look at him in the right way. And I'll be one for you, Amy. No matter what it costs me. I'll be one for you...

* * *

_

**And yes. I know you're thinking, "four chapters of update and NO PIE!" Look. I've gotten them through a major fight, back in a bed and in their pajamas. I'm getting there. I'm getting there. These things have to happen slowly... You've had swords, nightmares, monsters, breakups, fear, humor, _and_ pillow fighting. What else do you want? (yeah. I know. I know...)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: The summer just calls for key lime pie, doesn't it? (Please be warned: very, very M.)

* * *

**

Love is the magician that pulls man out of his own hat. ~Ben Hecht

Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity. ~Henry Van Dyke

* * *

I.

Amy found herself wearing a long green dress standing on a small hill located in a field of reddish grass. On the crest of the hill, there was a tree she might almost have mistaken for an oak had it not had leaves of shimmering silver. A slight wind stirred them, and they shone and rustled in the luminous glow of what seemed to be afternoon or dawn in this place. It was hard for her to tell as she looked up at the sky above her because there were _two suns..._

_Where am I? I've never dreamed this before...never read or heard of this place. I'd remember. I know I'd remember..._

She looked around her, turning in a slow circle, amazed at the beauty of this alien landscape. When she brought her attention back to the small hill at a distance ahead of her, she became aware of the man sitting on the far side, knees drawn up, small and forlorn-looking, staring off at the distant snow-capped mountains.

_Doctor?_

With her thought, she was standing on the gentle rise of the hill under the shade of the silver-leaved tree. She had moved with supernatural speed, a flash of thought that transported her from _there_ to _here_ instantaneously, but she felt no fear. Somehow, in this place, that was simply how one covered distance. It was natural and good. She took a few steps forward, enjoying the sensation of the soft grass teasing her bare feet. The seated figure before her did not turn.

She sat down beside him on the red turf, her green skirts spreading out around her. Her pose mimicked his own as she drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. For long moments, they simply sat in silence. She felt his hand slide out to cover her own, lace their fingers together, and she felt that electric and powerful current of being connected to him shimmer through her. She smiled, and a sigh escaped her.

He studied her with a small smile of his own before turning back to look at the landscape. There was something so wistful in his gaze as he swept it across slowly across the vista that after a while it made her turn to him and wrap her arms around him to comfort him, her head resting against his chest listening to the sound of his hearts. She felt his arms come up to hold her to him, one hand coming up to stroke her hair slowly.

She noticed as she leaned there against him that his clothing was different, too, both old-fashioned and other-worldly, nothing like the old-man-professorish garb he usually hid behind. There was a loose shirt that laced up the front and a long vest that had sigils in what she knew were the language of his world on it, soft pants, and boots. The symbols seemed to shift in color and content every time she glanced away. Something about that disturbed her in this peaceful place, so she decided not to look at them any more.

Instead, she looked up at him. The expression on his face broke her heart. His eyes were lost, yearning, haunted, as if he were trying to take in as much of what he was seeing as he possibly could because at any moment it would be taken from him. She didn't even pause to think. She gently placed her hand on his face, softly stroking. His eyes flickered down to hers , and the pain she saw there made her long to hold him, soothe him. Anyone who looked that sad should be weeping, yet he simply sat silent in front of her, his aching eyes darting from her face and then back to this unreal place that surrounded them as if it caused him pain both to look and to look away.

Still gentle, she brought the fingers of her hand to his mouth, and traced pad of her index finger along the curve of his bottom lip. His attention focused on her. There was a question in her expression as she repeated her action. She saw something change in his eyes, something click into place, a decision made. With a tiny little sound that had something of sadness and despair in it, he turned away from the snowcapped mountains, leaning in to her as she met him half-way.

The kiss started gently, slowly, lingeringly. His hands came up to comb through her hair gently, one hand cradling the back of her head as he traced the other down her waist to press her closer against him. She willingly pressed closer, murmuring, her hands sliding down to rest against his neck, his chest.

She had no idea how long they sat there under that changing sky, under those fading suns. He sucked her bottom lip softly; she responded with a sigh. He tilted his head, changing the angle of the kiss, and she opened her mouth in invitation. His hand on her waist tightened, shifted, as he accepted, as he slipped his tongue in slide across hers. The hand in her hair moved to her neck, his thumb seeking and finding her pulse, beginning to stroke it slowly. His touch against her just there made her shiver, made her need more, but also somehow took away her ability for urgency as their kisses grew deeper and longer. It was like deep water slowly pooling behind a well-made dam.

She wanted to let him know somehow about this new feeling, this new desire, but her words were now far away. He broke the kiss and nuzzled down to the joining of her neck and shoulder, just below the racing pulse he still slowly caressed. She felt him press closed lips against her, chaste, innocent, once, again, a third time. It had the feel of ritual, somehow, the way he held her, the way he tenderly kissed her. Then he opened his mouth against her there. She had never realized how sensitive this place on her body could be until this moment, until she felt him nip her lightly, begin to suck her neck, tongue slightly rough, lapping at her.

_What is he...what is...why?_

_*Mine*_

She heard it distinctly, clearly, and maybe even more perfectly than if he'd spoken it. She instantly understood his meaning, understood that he was putting his mark on her, was claiming her, and the thought of that made something in her react. She grabbed a handful of his hair, and he growled slightly, unwilling to suffer any interference, but she was pulling him against her, and the fierceness changed into something like a hungry purr as her fingers threaded through his hair.

_Yours. Oh yes...yours..._

The hand that had continued to stroke her pulse slipped up the side of her face, and she shivered in anticipation. When his fingertips skimmed over her temple, she felt the sparkling presence of him in her mind again. That thing she'd been missing, that she'd been looking for, returned to her, and she made a wordless little noise of happiness.

_Doctor..._

Desire like honey wine flowed to her, and she knew it was his. _*My strawberry ginger goddess. Mine. Mine. Want you. Want you.*_

_Then why are you waiting and...clothes...why are there clothes? Have you noticed a trend with the clothes?_

He laughed, brought his lips back to hers, and she felt the curve of them as he took her mouth. She felt the slight trembling of restraint in him.

_*Ah, but Pond, here...all things are possible...*_

_What do you mean?_

_*I mean...* _The voice in her mind trailed away, and he brought the hand at her waist up and around. She gasped because caress was touching bare skin as it trailed slowly over her ribcage. She pushed him back just a little and looked down.

She looked back up at him and arched an eyebrow. _Well, now, isn't that a neat party trick you've picked up?_

He grinned, pulled her back up against him. _*What sort of parties have you been going to?*_

Her hands were busy running over the bare expanse of his beautiful and unmarked chest. There was something about this that was...off...what was it? She should remember...

But then the hand that had been slipping up her torso reached its destination and she found that she really didn't care about the niggling little details any more.

II.

They fell backwards against the soft grass together to lie side by side. The day had finally disappeared, and moonlight silvered everything. The sky glowed a soft orange. _Just as it should..._

His hands were slowly remapping the contours of her body. He gently cupped her breast, settling the weight of it against his palm. His thumb lightly, slowly traced around her peaked nipple, but he did not touch it yet. His kisses were teasing, a flicker of his tongue against her own, not the full possession she longed for. She moved her hand from his hair to his shoulder to pull, to flex sharp nails against him in protest with a little noise of impatience, but he did not hurry his pace.

_Doctor..._

_*Told you I was going to take my time. And here, I have all the time there is...*_

He stroked his thumb over her nipple firmly, finally, and she groaned softly against his lips as the sensation shimmered through her.

_*So sensitive... and I won't deny myself this anymore...because I need... I want...* _He broke the kiss, and she gasped for air as she felt the heat of his mouth engulf her breast, greedily suckling. She arched toward him, holding him to her. His hand skimmed down her to encourage her leg to slide over his hip, and his fingers spread wide to pull her close to him.

_You're so...I feel you...please... _She ran her hands over his chest, down his back, caressing. They slipped between their bodies as she sought to stroke the length of him she felt pressed against her, sought to hurry his response.

_*Not yet. I will make you mine, I promise. I am making you mine, in fact. So you don't want to miss this part, trust me.*_

He rolled her under him, catching her hands in his, and pinning them gently beside her head as he brought his lips back to hers in a kiss that was hot, open-mouthed, required a response. She gave it, freely, fervently. He slid her hands above her head slowly, so slowly she didn't realize what he was doing until he captured both her wrists in one of his large hands.

He brought his knees between hers, spreading her thighs with his own. She willingly gave him room, slipping one leg up to his hip, toes flexing in the red grass with the pleasure of feeling his body, the hardness of him against her. His free hand caressed its way down her body, starting at her shoulder, spending happy moments at her breasts where it teased and plucked, rolled and caressed her sensitive nipples until she was twisting beneath him, and then, when he brought his kisses there to assuage the ache his clever fingers had aroused, she felt that wicked hand trail lower... Panting, desperate to touch him in return, she tugged against his light grip on her wrists, but he would not release her hands.

_*No. Not yet. Trust me. Want to show you something. Want to...give you something...* _The words were laced with such pure lust that her hips flexed up against his in instinctive response, and he made a little groaning noise against her skin as he kissed and suckled her.

His questing hand slipped over her taut stomach and threaded through her fiery curls to cup her in a proprietary manner, one fingertip lightly tracing the swollen, slick seam.

_*/Lust /Pride/ Mine. Already wet and ready and already mine. I could take you right now... but there is so much more... Going to give you so much more, Amy...* _His words echoing in her mind had the sound of a vow, and they were a low growl ripping across her mind.

He sank that one finger into her, seeking, pulling back from kissing her to watch the reaction on her face. She felt the electric shivering sensation that always accompanied his touch, but multiplied now, and she cried out softly. He stroked that finger inside her slowly, and with each movement, she felt paralyzing pleasure roll through her, retreating and intensifying with his motion like a wave lapping at the shore of the beach. He let her hands over her head go, slipping that hand down to cup her face, his fingertips beginning to caress her temple in the same rhythm his finger set below.

She could feel an intense sharpening of the bond between them, and suddenly, she had a sensation of what he was _feeling_ as his finger continued to dip in and out of her, of the lust and excitement that were racing through his system like an addictive drug, the desire bordering on worship he had for her, an image of _what he was going to do to her next..._

She cried out, her body, tightening around his finger, and she reached out for him. He took her kisses, drinking in her sounds and sensations of ecstasy. Between her thighs, that finger, that wicked digit, kept moving slowly, slowly, so slowly...

_Doctor! What...please...please..._

_*Absolutely. Anything you can even think of to demand is my pleasure to provide...*_

And he slipped another finger inside her, giving back to her the ecstasy he felt in taking her this way, in watching her come apart.

III.

He paused to pleasure her breasts because he knew she wanted him to, knew all the places where she was most sensitive there. He laved them, used his teeth to graze them lightly before soothing them with his tongue, lapping, circling before settling in to suckle hard, tongue flicking, because he knew that's exactly the way she liked it. Exactly the way she'd been dreaming about it in the dark secret nights all alone in her room, those nights when her hands had crept silently under the covers, under her nightgown... He knew it was exactly the way nobody had ever done it to her or for her before, the way nobody else ever _could_, and he took a savage pride in doing it to her now, in making sure he did it to her exactly right. Her hands tunneled through his hair and she arched for him in ecstasy like a cat, her hips rocking against the continuing ministrations of his other hand.

_So good...it's so...so good..._

She felt him smile before his mouth left her breasts at last, releasing her nipple reluctantly to trail open-mouthed kisses slowly down her abdomen. He left no mystery about where he was headed.

_Oh yes. Oh please. Oh, but if you do...I'll...I'll...Oh please..._

He dipped his tongue into her belly-button, and then he gently nuzzled the saturated curls of her mound before pressing a kiss there. She groaned, hands reaching for him, head tossing restlessly. He looked up at her, eyes full of heat and desire, pinning her back as he continued to stroke her.

_*I want you like this.* _He flashed an image into her head of her lying on her back, both feet planted on the ground, knees folded up, heels as close to her derrière as she could get them with him still lying between her legs.

She moaned, shuddering, the image and command together erotic enough almost to send her over by themselves, and he kissed her thigh, nipped her there lightly, lightly. She felt his fingers slide down her leg to circle her ankle, encouraging her, and with effort, she forced her mind to force her body to slide her legs up.

"Perfect. You're perfect." She was spread for him, totally exposed, and she felt his thumb begin to caress her, begin to slide slickly over the sensitive bud of her. Her head fell back, rolling from side to side she fought for control, began to lose the battle. His voice, low, husky, came to her again. It was the first time he'd spoken aloud here, and the sound of him, dark, rough with need, in the silence of this place, was another layer of arousal. "Do you even know what you look like, Pond? Do you even know how erotic, how world-shattering you are? I bet you don't..."

_*/Image of herself, totally lush, totally abandoned, lying back against the red grass. Her legs were spread open wide, her hips rising and falling as the Doctor's hand slowly and continuously stroked her. She watched as he leaned down, her vision his, and her perspective blurred together with his own as he flicked his tongue out to barely, barely trace over her again, again, again.../*_

Amy's entire body shuddered, tightened, her vision going dark for a moment as pure sensation overwhelmed her. The Doctor simply kissed her thigh, the sensitive skin at the back of her knee, and waited.

A few moments later, when she knew where she was, she looked down, and he was looking at her with glittering eyes.

_*Oh, no. Not done. Not done with you. More. Give me more. I want...I need...*_

And he buried his face in her glistening folds.

She was keening. She would have cried out his name, but he had stripped away her words, stripped away her ability to name things. She could only feel, feel the thrust of his fingers, feel the slick glide and flick of his tongue, feel his lips suckle and tug. He made a low growling sound against her as he used the flat of his tongue to lap at her over and over. Her arms fell weak and useless above her head, fingers twisting into the red grass as her mind was overloaded by her own pleasure and his crashing over her again and again.

He rose above her still licking the taste of her from his lips, and he looked down at her with such hunger in his eyes that every part of her seemed to quiver in response. She reached for him, pulled him down to her, and the feeling of his weight settling down on top of her was right, good, satisfying. She felt the iron length of him against her again, and she shifted her pelvis against his restlessly. He stroked her hair back with both hands, framing her face, studying her for a moment, speculation warring with the pure desire burning in his eyes, kissing her deeply.

_*It's time, now, Amelia. Last chance to run away... I...I... can probably still let you go, but...*_

For an answer, she moved her trembling hand from his shoulder to his face, set her fingertips against his temple, and slowly stroked there. A shiver ran through him from head to foot and his lips parted on a groan. His hips hitched against her.

_Don't you tell me to run. Not ever again. Thought...thought we'd settled that..._

_*Sorry. My mistake. Duly noted.* _He smiled ever so slightly, kissed her forehead lightly. _*In that case, then...*_

He looked into her eyes, smile disappearing, and she became aware of the light in his eyes, focused on the beauty of them, as she never had been before. There were worlds in his eyes... She felt his fingers lightly caressing her, and it felt as if her whole body were encased in lightning, but there was no pain. It felt as if she were being lifted out of herself somehow, and the feeling was complete ecstasy, a pleasure beyond anything she'd ever felt...

_*Breathe, Pond, you still need to breathe.../Amusement/Desire/Worry/*_

Who needed air? Air was for amateurs... She had..._this_.

As the knowledge of him, the _knowing him_ began to flow to her, she felt his length slide slickly over her. She instinctively arched for him, and then he entered her. He slid in slowly, inch by inch, measured and controlled into her waiting warmth until she was panting, ready to scream from it. At last, he was fully inside her, buried to the hilt, pelvis to pelvis. Her legs tightened around his waist, her fingers gripping his face as her body began to adjust to the size and heat of him, so much of him now there so deep inside her.

He was breathing hard, his fingers continuing to maintain contact, his eyes continuing to mesmerize hers. His back was arched hard, bowing him against her, his hips hitching in irregular tiny uncontrolled thrusts. Other than this, they were locked together in stillness as their minds connected.

As she looked at him, it seemed his face sometimes shimmered, changed, sometimes was not his own. And yet, she knew the faces that she saw were somehow all him, knew suddenly that he had worn many faces in many times. Her eyes widened. She saw incomplete flashes of his past, brief, pieces only, the majestic and the terrible, but even these were powerful. She saw him as a traveler for whom everything was steeped in wonder, a peace-maker who all-too-often saw his efforts fall to ruin, and then, horribly and least clearly, as a warrior who fought against his will...

More clearly, more completely, she saw him seeing her, from their first meeting as he'd tumbled out of the damaged and burning TARDIS to help her with the scary crack in her childhood bedroom wall to the second time when she'd cracked him over the head with a cricket bat in her Kiss-O-Gram costume and he'd begun to feel unwilling admiration for both her courage and her long legs. Then on StarShip UK when she'd saved him from becoming someone he'd have to hate, _again_, and he'd felt the first flickerings of something more, how hard he'd been fighting that unexpected and losing battle since then, especially when she'd begun to pursue him actively, recklessly...

He saw into her as well, and because of the strength of his natural abilities was able to see to the bottom of her yearning for him, see every tear and torment she'd had as a child, see the blur that was her parents disappearing from her life, strangely muted as it was, see every hateful therapist and village child, every victory and triumph as she became the woman she chose to be in defiance of them all. Green eyes and green-gold eyes locked together were bright with tears at the understanding, with the appreciation of the other, and still the connection between them grew. He lowered his mouth to hers softly, gently kissing her.

The flow of places and memories eventually stopped, and she realized that she was seeing her own face, suddenly. She was looking down at herself through his eyes. She watched her own eyes grow wider, felt a combination of unease and desire as she suddenly understood without having to ask that he was showing her this, giving her this, reminding her that the knowing of the other's pleasure was a part of the full bond.

He flexed his hips gently, withdrawing for the first time since he'd entered her and reseating himself deeply. Her eyes slid closed. She could feel not only the sensation of him inside her, full and hard, but she could also feel what he felt, the sensation of her own body tight and slick around him, receiving him as he thrust back in.

Words were a useless affectation now. They did not need to speak for the other to understand what was needed, desired. His pleasure was her own now, as hers had been his from the very beginning, and they sought it together relentlessly. She opened her eyes because she knew he wanted, needed to look into them, see the responses mirrored there. He withdrew and thrust back in again once more with exquisite slowness because he knew she wanted to feel the amazing duality again, experience that new sensation once more. She removed one hand from his temple and stroked it lightly down his back, and they both shivered in reaction. He kissed her, another teasing flicker of his tongue against hers, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth when his retreated. He sucked on it greedily. He'd been wanting her to do that for ages, she realized, liked her to be the aggressor sometimes.

He began to move. It was time. They were both ready. His hips slowly rocked, setting a pace that was like the tide of the ocean, endless, eternal. She met every thrust, her mind filled with the sparkling web of their bond, the sensations of his pleasure and hers like diamonds cast on velvet handful after handful. Urgency began to arise, and his pace increased. She slid her leg up and over his waiting arm so he could bring it up over his shoulder to bend her for the deeper strokes he craved.

His excitement and desire fueled her own, and she dug her nails into his shoulder. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she felt him kiss-bite her again in an act she now understood to be a symbolic marking, a claiming, a visible sign of possession and warning to others that a bonding had occurred, felt her need begin to rise with the emotions that washed back and forth between them. He raised his head and his eyes met hers again. He brought his other hand back to her temple again, and she mirrored his action. He kissed her once, briefly, hips pounding into hers, and then his rhythm stuttered, broke, and her mouth opened on a soundless cry as the climax hit them. He threw his head back to the orange sky and roared.

The incredible intensity of it had every muscle in her body clenching as she bowed beneath him. The sensation surpassed everything she had ever known before, everything even that he had shown her before. It wasn't just physical ecstasy, but was somehow also an ecstasy of the mind as well, and _that they were sharing it..._ It went on and on as echo after echo bounced back and forth between them. Eventually, the last of the lightning faded away, and she lay weak and dazed beneath the heavy weight of him listening to the tripping cadence of his double hearts. She wrapped her arms around him, gently holding, caressing, as their bodies and minds began to calm.

He turned his head, kissed her neck softly, and she heard through the bond as clear as a bell and laced with the deepest satisfaction, _*Mine.*

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_

**Here's hoping you didn't all die from key lime overdose...and that it was up to everyone's demanding standards.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Pie seems to have made us all replete. On we go.

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**

Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions.

~Woody Allen

Many are the starrs I see, but in my eye no starr like thee.

~English saying used on poesy rings

* * *

I.

She woke slowly to the warm comfort of being nestled loosely in his arms. She became aware of several things at the same time. First, she felt rested, calm, relaxed in a way she had not in quite awhile. Second, she was no longer lying beneath him on the red grass. Instead, she and the Doctor were side-by-side beneath her bed's bright coverlet in the TARDIS. Third, even though her face was pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder and his hand had crept under her pajama top to rest in the hollow of her spine, they were both very much clothed, a status that seemed impossible considering what had happened between them before she'd lost her awareness again.

For a moment, she lay still, mind racing, trying to put together pieces that seemed to be from two completely different puzzles. A disturbing suspicion grew, and her eyes narrowed.

_That can't all have been..._

"Oi. Wake up."

She rolled back a little and poked the Doctor in the shoulder. His eyes opened immediately. There was no sleepy confusion, no dazed transition from slumber to wakefulness. He was simply asleep one moment and alert the next. It was a little startling. His eyes studied hers, and he brought his hand up tuck her hair behind her ear, cupping her face.

"Hello," he murmured, his tone intimate. He leaned toward her to kiss her, head tilting slightly, but her hand in the middle of his chest brought him up just short of his goal.

"Ah. We're skipping right to the explanation portion of events, then. That's a shame." His words were amused, and she felt a deep joy in him that hadn't been there before. She realized that her awareness of that was flowing to her through their re-established bond. A crooked little smile played over his lips.

"Did we...did I...did you...? Wait. Let me try this again. What exactly did we _do_ last night? And where?" She couldn't keep the uncertainty out of her tone, and she felt a hot blush creeping over her cheeks. She swallowed hard, her eyes searching his, trying to prepare herself for whatever the answer might be because with him, one never knew. _Oh, I've never, ever had to ask that. Why don't I know? Sooo embarrassing... I sound like a drunk kid waking up in some one-night-stand's bed on the morning after..._

The hand he'd used to push her hair back slipped down her neck to circle his fingertips lightly against where it joined her shoulder. She shivered at the sensation as memories came tumbling back to her.

"Come now, Pond. I should have thought they taught you all about the basic mechanics of the _what_ in school in some boring health lecture. Or if not, that the popular media of your day had surely filled in the missing blanks for you by now... I mean, I'll be happy to explain the process to you if necessary, but after last night, telling you the hows and wherefores just seems so...redundant. You did seem to understand it all at the time. But maybe you've got the _practical_ application down and are questioning me about _theory_..." His tone was pure Doctor-missing-the-point-lecture, but his eyes were dancing with mischief.

"In about a minute, I swear I'm going to smack you..." She rolled over onto her back, and she put her hands over her face in pure embarrassment. _I'm not having this conversation with him. I'm not. I'm not..._

He leaned up on one elbow and flashed a quick wicked grin. "Violent this morning, are we? That's no way to resolve an issue..."

"Ha. So says you." She moved her hands to give a pointed look down to the cuts on his chest, moving her head a little restlessly on her pillow. "Besides...I'm not...mad, exactly..." She wasn't. Incredibly, she couldn't seem to summon her famous anger at all. She just felt too good. She was, however, still curious. "But really, you have to admit, certain items of this particular equation don't exactly add up, right?" She plucked lightly at his open pajama top, her fingers grazing his skin as she did so.

He reached out to trace his fingertips lightly over her neck again. "Depends on which side of this equation you're on, I suppose."

"Doctor..." There was a warning note in her voice.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer ignoring her brief resistance, sighed with satisfaction as she allowed him to tuck her against him tightly, eliminating the space that had been between them. _I can do this now. I get to do this now. Mine to hold, mine to reach for..._ He buried his face in her hair for a moment before answering her.

"The answer is both ridiculously complicated and absurdly simple, Pond. Which version would you like first?"

She reached for a button on his pajama top and circled her index finger around it lightly, considering. He could feel the touch through the soft material, a little caress he knew she wasn't even aware of. Then she looked up at him. "I think maybe you'd better give me the simple answers first."

"Good. The simple version is my favorite." He grinned as if at some inner joke. "Fire away then. I will endeavor to strip my answers down to their essence as much as is possible, given the situation."

"Okay, then. Okay." She took a deep breath. Held it. Looked at him. He looked back at her. That continued for a moment. "So..." She tilted her head meaningfully, hoping desperately that he'd take the hint, put her out of her misery, tell her without her having actually to form the question.

He, of course, mirrored her head tilt exactly and did not. "So..." That slight smile was still hovering about his lips.

"Well?" Her tone rose interrogatively.

"Yes?" His did as well.

"Gah! You're actually going to lie there and make me ask you if we really had sex or if it was all some freaky kind of dream?"

"Yes. Yes, rather think I am." He was laughing at her, she realized, and she swung a hand to punch him. He caught it with cat-like speed, held it gently but firmly as he rolled her beneath him.

"Doctor, let me go. I need to talk to you. I need an answer to this question."

He leaned down, nuzzled her ear gently. "No you don't, Pond. Not really." He nibbled at her earlobe. She shivered. She could feel the wanting coming from him, thick, hot, sweet, like honey on her tongue.

"But I don't understand. It had to be a dream. That place couldn't have been real. Doesn't that mean it didn't really happen?"

She felt his lips press against her neck, just below her ear. _*Can you hear this, feel me now?*_

_God, that feels good... No. Focus. Yes, but what..._

He softly brushed his lips over a sensitive spot and smiled at her reaction before continuing. _*Do you know how happy being here with you like this makes me, how much I want you?*_

_You know I do, but..._

He set his closed mouth on that place at the joining of neck and shoulder, and she felt his breath on her skin. Her entire mind, her entire body was focusing on him, on that innocuous kiss. _Because it's a prelude..._

*_So it also follows that you know why you know, don't you, Amelia? You wanted the simple answer, and this is the simplest one that there is...* _He kissed her there softly, so softly. _*Why do you know it, impossible Amy?*_

_Can't think. Can't breathe. _She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. _Doctor..._

_*It's because you're Mine. That's the simplest possible answer. Everything else, that's just window dressing.*_

And he opened his mouth.

II.

Their second first time involved considerably less tenderness, patience, and restraint on both their parts. Her hunger for him was raging as she felt his teeth nip her, his tongue lave. While he set his mark on her throat, she tore the pajama top off his shoulders and down his arms as though it had done her a personal injury.

They rolled across her bed flinging covering and clothing aside between claiming incendiary kisses from each other as everything inside them blazed up white-hot and unbearable. Caresses made up in ardor what they lacked in gentleness as they ran needy hands over exposed skin eagerly, seeking places they knew would make each other growl and sigh.

_I can't wait...won't wait...must have you...now...now... _

He was rising over her again, was inside her again where she needed him, where he needed to be, and he felt her nails sink into his shoulders as she arched under him. The pace he set was hard, fast, and she groaned in approval, in satisfaction, wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled her painted cat claws down his back asking for more. He set the fingers of one hand against her temple, and she instinctively mirrored his action. The climax came like a lightning strike, a bolt of sensation that sizzled through them both, echoing back and forth between them, leaving them shattered and panting.

III.

A few minutes later, she managed to get her brain restarted. "Well, I suppose that settles that question," she murmured hazily against his shoulder.

He snorted, managed to push up onto his elbows and kiss her, and then he rolled to lay beside her staring up at the ceiling. "And Ms. Pond has confidence of what it is that we've done this time, one hopes..."

She rolled her head on the pillow to look at him, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah... Are you always this snide afterward? Because the custom as I understand it is for there to be some words of tenderness..."

He grinned. "Well, to be fair, you started it."

"What? How?" She frowned, the little furrow between her brows he knew so well forming.

"First thing out of your mouth this morning was asking if anything had happened. Can you imagine? No 'Hello.' No 'Thank You Doctor for that literally mind-altering experience.'"

Amy laughed at his audacity, but he went on.

"Not even a good morning kiss. I was much put out about the kiss, too. Have I mentioned how much I like the kissing? I mean you could have at least spared one tiny little..."

She rolled over and pressed her mouth against his to shut him up. It was either that, or she was going to have to kill him. He slipped his fingers through her hair to hold her there for long moments, enjoying the feeling of them together.

When she finally pulled back to lie beside him again, he licked his lips as though to get the last of something tasty from them and he sighed. "See? Delectable. Now. Have all your doubts about 'something happening between us' been sufficiently put to rest? Because if not, well..." He ran a fingertip down her arm, brought questioning eyes back to hers.

She looked at him in disbelief mingled with curiosity, brow arching.

"Ah, be careful. Remember, not playing by human rules here. Don't make me prove another go is possible..." _Don't keep looking at me like that, or another go will be necessary. Possibly more than one..._

She shook her head, summoning up enough energy from somewhere to flop her hand over onto his chest lightly to restrain him. "No. No. I believe you. You are a mad, mad man, but I believe you."

He grinned and laced his fingers through hers with a satisfied sigh. "In that case, what are your thoughts about breakfast? I'm starving."

IV.

They managed to get dressed, eventually. He insisted on getting in the shower with her which led to nothing productive by way of getting them out the door to breakfast but did make her see the huge tiled walk-in shower stall in her bathroom in a brand new light.

When they finally extricated themselves from the shower and each other, he opened the large mirror/medicine cabinet as if it were his own, poking around inside at the contents.

"Okay, even for you, that's rude and presumptuous. What _are_ you doing?" She was drying her hair with a towel and had just turned around to find him rummaging through her personal items.

"I would have thought she'd have put it here by now..." He continued to pick up her things and look at them, set them back down.

"_Who_ would have put _what_ here by now?"

"The TARDIS. Little green jar. Salve for the cuts that haven't healed yet. Remember? I told you about it last night?" He was standing there with a bath towel wrapped around his waist looking at her hairdryer in puzzlement, flipping switches and shaking it. It wasn't plugged in. "What _is_ this silly thing? What does it do? Well, it's not doing much of anything just now, is it?"

She scanned the bath and spied a jar that looked like it was made from green alabaster if such a thing existed sitting on the edge of the sink area directly facing into the bedroom. It was in conspicuous sight. The only way it would have been harder to miss is if it had come with its own personal spotlight. She sighed, walked over, picked it up, brought it to him.

"Amy, I don't think this works. I could probably adjust it for you, though. If I get my sonic, though, I think I could just..." She took the hairdryer out of his hands, slapped the jar into them. He smiled, happy as a child on Christmas. "Oh. Hello. There you are. Thank you."

Shaking her head, she headed out of the bath to put on some clothes. She'd managed to get her outfit for the day laid on the bed when he appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking a little sheepish again.

"Pond, a bit of help, please?" He held out the green jar.

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Really, Doctor. Are you going to be this way from now on, then? What is it? Got a twist-off lid that's beyond you? I mean, how hard can it be..." She lifted the lid, not a twist-off after all, and set it aside, stuck her fingertips in the salve which tingled a little and smelled pleasantly herbal and began to gently spread some of it across one of the gashes that still marred his chest. It grew visibly smaller before her eyes, and she blinked in surprise before remembering what was going on. "See? Voila! Now you try it..."

His lips quirked in amusement. "Um, no. That's nice, and thank you very much, but that's not exactly what I needed the help with, Amy."

"Then what?"

He turned and she saw the several sets of short scratches starting at his shoulders and running part of the way down his back. It looked a little as though a largish cat had used him to sharpen its claws.

"Oh... good... God." She whispered, covering her face with her hand as understanding struck.

"I thought since I was using the salve on the others, I would go ahead and treat these, too. Of course, they're basically superficial, and I would have them healed by tomorrow, but the salve should get rid of them almost instantly, so..." He shrugged, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder.

"Superficial..." she echoed, her voice hollow, strange, unable to take her eyes off those marks on his back. _I've never done that before...I've never, ever...What kind of..._

He quickly sat down the little jar, turned, wrapped his arms around her. "Shh. I didn't show you to distress you. I'm sorry. I thought you knew you'd done it. It's nothing. Trust me."

Her hands were closed into fists and folded up in front of her. He put his hand under her chin, tilted her head so she looked into his eyes.

_*Pond. You're not listening. It's nothing. I've had much, much worse. Trust me, please. /Distress/Frustration/*_

She shook her head. _I've never been that..._

_*Don't you think I know that? That I'm glad of that? I'm not ashamed of these. I'm...* _

And the words stopped. He gave her instead sensations, images, his great pride in having a fierce mate who desired him enough to leave marks, who was strong enough to take all he demanded and still demand more from him in return, his pleasure in having felt her become so immersed in their joining that control had been stripped away.

"Don't be embarrassed. Please," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and stepped out of his arms, picked up the salve and walked around behind him. He looked at her over his shoulder, watched her dip her fingers in the unguent again and felt the soothing sensation of it spread over the shallow scrapes.

Her mind was still, shuttered to him. She should not have been able to do that, and he went very, very still as he felt around the edges of their bond carefully, tentatively. He'd thought once the bond was complete between them that she wouldn't be able to close him out. Mates sharing a bond who were fully trained had the ability to put a shield in place that allowed some privacy when it was needed, not the choking restraint he'd initiated when he'd tried to kill what was between them before, but sort of a curtain that could be drawn back and forth at will. He'd worried that without Amy having it, his mind would overwhelm hers eventually. Somehow, though, she seemed to have something like it naturally. He'd just seen it snap into place. It should have taken the full training of a Time Lord to do it, and yet ...

_*Please, Amy. Don't make this something it's not. There is no shame in this. No shame in anything we do, anything we are... Look, Pond, I've had skinned knees worse than...* _Could she still hear him? What if she...

_Shut up, Doctor. _

Suddenly, he could see into her again, and the relief was almost overwhelming. He felt her smooth more of the balm over his back, felt the press of her lips against him there between the shoulder blades as well, and he wisely decided to take her advice. _How did she do that? _There was no need to press the issue now. It might be a one-time occurrence. Perhaps the bond needed strengthening. He would see to it that there were ample opportunities for him to check... He stood pondering it in the privacy of his own mind while she continued to apply the salve. When she was done, she handed him the little jar, smiled briefly.

"It's okay. I was just...well, mortified." She held up her hand to forestall his speech. "No. It's fine. I've just never had the urge to claw a boyfriend to bloody bits before. In fact, I don't think I've ever...well...left marks on anybody before." Her face was flaming red. He found it too endearing for words. "It's a little disturbing. I'm trying to get used to the idea."

He took her hand in his gently, brought it to his lips, kissed her fingers, each individually as he looked her in the eye. She smiled at the silly little gesture.

"Can I just say, then, that I'm pleased to be the first to move you that deeply?" Wicked little grin. He took the tip of her index finger between his teeth, biting down lightly.

She pulled her hand out of his, and rolled her eyes. "Oh boy. I should have known _that_ was coming..."

"What? What did I say? It's the truth, isn't it?" Innocent, boyish expression but evil, ancient eyes.

_Ha. But I can hear what's going on in your head now. So that does NOT fool me any more... _"If you'd like to avoid having more wounds than magic potion to go on them, Doctor, I think you'd better shut up now."

"Ah. Well. Shutting up, Pond. Shutting up." And he did. But he was still thinking about what had happened...about her mind falling silent...

IV.

They were laughing and having breakfast in the kitchen when Rory came in. His eyes flicked from one to the other, and he nodded as if what he was seeing simply confirmed a theory he had. He didn't look as if he'd slept much.

"Here you are. Well. Whenever you might be able to spare the time to drop me back at home, I'd be most grateful then, Doctor."

Amy looked at the Doctor and back to Rory, then down at the plate of food in front of her, distress written on her face. She didn't say a word. What was there left to say?

The Doctor looked at him steadily, played with the butter knife on the table in front of him, twirling it delicately in his fingers. The slightest of smiles still lingered on his lips. It wasn't a particularly pleasant or inviting expression, somehow. "Have your things all packed?"

Rory's eyes had become fixed on Amy's neck, exposed with the heavy fall of her hair pushed back over her shoulder, and she blushed suddenly, her hand flying up to cover the mark the Doctor had made. Rory's eyes were accusatory, and he opened his mouth to say something, but the Doctor rose suddenly, put his hand under Rory's elbow, and removed him from the room, saying just a little too brightly, "Come on, Rory. Let's go make sure you've not left anything under the bed or in the drawers. Nothing like forgetting a shoe or a sock is there? I mean, then you've only got the one, and you can't ever find the match for it, can you?"

* * *

**Whew! The chapter must end here. More later, including talk of dream-Gallifrey, what happens when your ex and your Time Lord wind up alone together, and a fairy tale adventure. But right now, I have to go feed an angry army of animals who are about to rip the computer to shreds... Um, review, pls?**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: All my sweet reviewers. You make me want to write and write and write. This story has its teeth in me. I guess it's an addiction for everybody. Here's another dose.

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The storm begins; poor wretch,  
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed  
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,  
But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I  
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!  
The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have  
A lullaby too rough: I never saw  
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!  
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:  
I am gone for ever.

_Exit, pursued by a bear_

_The Winter's Tale – _William Shakespeare

* * *

I.

Amy just watched them go. She didn't get up, didn't try to stop them. The happiness she'd felt as she and the Doctor had shared their morning was completely gone, leaving her feeling tired, cold, and uneasy. She had felt something best described as warning growl uncoiling in her mind from the moment Rory had walked in and opened his mouth. She'd known it wasn't coming from her, and that had really only left one other person in the room...

She pushed her plate across the table and put her head in her hands. _Why couldn't he just have been civil? Especially since everything is ending now. Why couldn't he just have come in and sit down with us and made polite conversation? For the sake of everything that was past, if nothing else? But no. He was about to say something horrid. The Doctor must have known exactly what, too..._ she realized. She had come to know, after being in his head as she'd done, that he could know much more about the inner workings of those around him than he let on, particularly if he was choosing to look... A sudden thought made her raise her head and frantically look across the table. To her great relief, the butter knife still lay on the table exactly where his hands had abandoned it as he'd hurried Rory out of the room.

_Well, I suppose there's some comfort there, right? I mean, he'd never really hurt Rory, would he? _ She rose and began to take her dishes to the sink, but she couldn't quite get the image of the Doctor in the burned and tattered shirt leaning against a red marble column with indolent ease out of her mind or the last thing that particular Doctor had said to her, "Run."

II.

The Doctor propelled Rory down the hall of the TARDIS in a grip that brooked no argument. Rory was so caught off his guard by the action that at first, he was simply swept along. A short distance down the corridor, however, he recovered enough to begin to try to shake the Doctor's hands off him. They were still some distance from Rory's room, and when he began to try to pry the Doctor's fingers off his arm in earnest, the Doctor simply let go of him with one hand long enough to push a nearby door open and shove him into the room at hand hard enough to have him stumbling.

It turned out to be a bedroom, one whose contents the Doctor recognized immediately. The colors were stark, bordering on monotone. Only in the clothing still hanging on the door to the wardrobe was there any color. It was clearly feminine with an affinity for classic cuts and styles. A select few venerable books were shelved near an elegant writing desk, and the data terminal she'd truly preferred for research hummed to life in the corner as they entered. The Doctor couldn't quite suppress the twist of pain. _She's gone. Gone just like the rest of them. _ There were more pressing matters at hand, however. He forced himself to look away from from the complex yet austere Gallifreyan art piece on the wall, a work she'd truly loved from because it reminded her of home as she was traveling with him, forced his mind away from that which was lost forever, from this reminder of what his hands had wrought, cursed himself and the TARDIS both for not being more careful in his choice of location for this particular confrontation.

Such momentary but deeply painful distraction probably accounted a great deal, then, for the fact that Rory noticed the old cricket bat leaning in the corner first...

III.

Rory whisked the bat up, brandishing it like a sword, keeping it between him and the Doctor. The Doctor looked at him in mild but profoundly amused astonishment.

"What _are_ you doing with that? Put it down before you injure yourself, please."

Rory was panting slightly. "You think I don't know what you brought me in here for? I'm not scared of you, Doctor. Come on, then!" He waved the bat slightly, wild-eyed.

The Doctor sighed and struggled internally for patience. He had the greatest desire to take the bat from Rory's hands and render him unconscious with it. It would really be the simplest of all the possible solutions. An unconscious Rory could say nothing else hurtful to Amy. An unconscious Rory would be easy to toss out the doors of the TARDIS when she landed soon. An unconscious Rory would not tempt him to acts of punitive retribution...

_No, Doctor. Nonviolence. Don't crack open the young idiot's skull. He's full of sour grapes and testosterone. Patience is needed. He's away from Amy now. He can't upset her further. Have your little chat with him, and then bloody get him out of here._

He smiled a little, spread his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Rory, really. You need to put the bat down. I just wanted to have a bit of a chat with you before you left is all. Thought it might be best if it didn't happen in front of Amy, all things considered." He circled round Rory to pull out the baroque-looking chair that went with the writing desk and turned it around to sit on it backwards. He propped his chin on his hands and tilted his head, staring at Rory.

Rory continued to look at the Doctor for long moments, refusing to relinquish his defensive stance. _Except for his eyes, I could almost believe he's harmless. Except for his eyes and for what I've seen him do... _He shivered just a little bit. _But what choice do I have, really?_ And by inches, he slowly lowered the bat. He shuffled over to the bed, perched lightly on the edge. He kept a firm grip on the handle of the bat, stared sullenly at the floor.

"Well, let's have it then. What is it you wanted to say?"

The Doctor paused a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "Rory, believe it or not as you like, but you are very important to Amy. What you think of her is very important, even vital to her."

Rory made an angry scoffing sound.

"No. You must listen." The Doctor's tone was hard. Rory looked up in spite of himself, met the Doctor's eyes. What he saw there made him grip the handle of the bat tighter.

"You have been her friend, one of her only friends, for...well...almost a lifetime now. For you to suddenly become angry with her and sever that is painful to her..."

"Painful to her! That's bloody rich! Painful to _her_..."

The Doctor kept talking as if Rory had said nothing. "...and although she knows that there has been a change in your relationship that may not be something that can be retracted, she so much doesn't want to lose you."

Rory's anger made him bold enough to overlook that...something...he saw hiding behind the Doctor's gaze. "Why the hell are you telling me this? What is this? I've already made it as clear as I can that I'm very sorry, but I don't want to do the whole consolation-prize friend thing. And doesn't it seem at all unnatural or odd to you that she sent you on this little mission for her? Are you her errand boy now? What is this even?"

The Doctor grinned. Or at least he bared his teeth. There was very little in it that one could recognize as an expression of humor or enjoyment and all too much of the threat in it for it to truly be a grin. "Oh, Rory. You've misunderstood. Again. Repeatedly, it seems. Let me _enlighten_ you, won't you?" He leaned forward in the chair, tilted it forward on two legs. Rory understood his choice of words was deliberate. _Did Amy tell him about that?_

He extended one finger from the hand casually dangling from the chairback. "Point one. Amelia did not send me anywhere. She, right now in fact, is standing in the kitchen wishing fervently both that she knew and that she never has to know what is going on in this room. Silly Pond...She's wondering if she ought to coming looking for you. Right worried she is about you, Rory." He tilted his head slightly, closed his eyes as though he were savoring something sweet. "Hot water is flowing over her left hand...now her right...Ah yes. She's washing up the dishes, I believe." His lips turned up in genuine amusement. "Oh, and she is much relieved that I didn't bring that butter knife with me, by the way. _Almost_ as much as you were."

He opened his eyes looked at Rory again, noted that he was going pale, extended a second finger lazily. "Point two. What this is. This is me trying to make Amelia happy. That's really all. I should have thought it obvious. But perhaps you don't recognize it since you didn't bother to do that much of it yourself... Anyway I hope it is what you'll find me chiefly occupied in doing from now on. It makes me happy, see, to please her. And you can take _that _in whatever way you like, my dear boy, because I mean it in all ways, most of which, fortunately for everyone involved, I happen to excel in. And I believe..."

He extended a third finger.

"That brings us to point three. What I am to her. Or, more precisely perhaps, what we are to each other. I saw you looking at that mark on her neck."

Rory opened his mouth to comment, and once again, the Doctor cut him off, this time with a curt gesture from his hand.

"No. You listen. You can have nothing to say about things you do not understand. She made a choice. She tried to tell you. Perhaps you did not listen, but that's hardly her fault, is it? You're angry because you think she was unfaithful to you, played games with you. But she was not. She was never fully Mine before she chose not to be yours anymore. It was as she told you. That you believe her capable of that shows how little you know her.

"And, perhaps she did not choose you, but again, this is not a fault. It is a decision. What _you_ chose to do then and choose now to do in reaction to her decision is where fault may lie. Because what she is, is _Mine_, Rory. Do you understand me?" He said all of this in a perfectly level tone except for that slight inflection on that one word. It was the more menacing for that. His eyes bored into Rory's.

Rory swallowed hard. He heard in that one word more passion that could be encompassed in a thousand flowery sonnets. He heard the promise of dedication lasting to the end of worlds. He heard the howl of something wild and fierce protecting and yearning for its claimed mate. He felt the whisper of a blade brushing across the back of his neck, a scratch only that barely drew blood, a warning that would not be repeated.

"Do. You. Understand." Lower, softer, still more frightening.

Rory moistened his lips, could not make his voice work though his lips shaped the word. He husked out a sound. It was enough. The Doctor understood.

He sat back immediately, relaxed, the predator leaving his gaze or at least bothering to hide itself again behind the green-gold gaze, and the Doctor abruptly rubbed his hands together, rose, headed for the door. Rory, in a daze, dropped the cricket bat on the pristine bed and followed him.

"Good! Fantastic," the Doctor was saying in a bright, cheerful tone, just as if they'd been talking of holiday plans or at last getting a surprise present much-anticipated. "Let's just pop down to your room, then, make sure you really do have everything all together for when we arrive back to Leadsworth, and then you can go say your goodbyes to Amelia."

He had thrown his arm around Rory, clapped him on the shoulder amiably, but Rory did not miss the way the hand tightened on his shoulder ever so subtly at the end.

IV.

Under the Doctor's watchful supervision, Rory finished assembling his luggage, and the Doctor helped him carry it to the TARDIS control room. The Doctor then got out his sonic screwdriver and opened the access panel that led under the main console. He slid underneath, humming a ballad that hadn't been heard on Earth for several centuries. Rory watched him dully. It seemed, then, that he would have some privacy for his last conversation with Amelia Pond.

He turned his steps toward the kitchen, and he found her still there sitting at the table, turning the butter knife over in her own fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, it tumbled from her nerveless fingers to clatter on the wooden tabletop, and she quickly pinned it down, looked up at him with a tiny smile that faded as her eyes searched his.

He came in and sat down across from her. For long moments, they simply looked at each other. So many years, so many plans and dreams, so much that he'd wanted, and now, all there was left of it all was this... He felt something sharp and broken inside him, something turning to dust, blowing away in a hot, dry wind.

"So..." Silence. There was simply nothing left to say. _Nowhere left to go. All the roads lead to devastation and endless shifting dunes._

"So..." Tears glittered in her eyes. _So this is goodbye. _

Suddenly, something welled up inside him. He reached out and grabbed her hand, held it tightly, fervently. "Amy, look. I've no rights to ask it anymore, but, please. Promise me something."

She squeezed back, "No rights? Rory, you're...you've been my best friend since...forever. Anything. Name it." A tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Be careful with him. Okay? Just promise me that. I know this sounds like old boyfriend and jealousy and a million cliches all rolled into one thing, but it's not. I mean, not only that. I can't say I'm not jealous, 'cause I hate losing you, Amy. It's killing me. I love you, Amy."

She sobbed, put her free hand over her mouth.

"I always will love you. But this is more than that. He's not careful, Amy. He thinks he is, but he's not. And that's the most dangerous thing. He's going to get you into trouble somehow, some way, that he won't be able to get you out of, and I can't stand the thought of that. Oh, he'll weep, and he'll miss you, but you'll be the one who pays. Promise me that you'll protect yourself. Please."

His hand was tight on hers, and she put equal pressure on his. "Rory," she whispered. "It's okay. It's going to be okay..."

He shook his head. "No. Promise me. I can't go until..." He cut himself off short, looked up at the kitchen door.

The Doctor was there leaning against the door frame, the picture of apparent ease. Neither of them knew how long he'd been standing there. As they saw him, he shifted, smiled. "All ready then? She's landed. Rory, you're home at last."

V.

Rory held on to her hand as they walked to the door of the TARDIS. Amy could feel the Doctor's displeasure at that buzzing through her, but she also felt him trying to keep it muted, trying to be patient. When they reached the doors, Amy looked out to see the Doctor had landed them inside Rory's apartment. The Doctor had already put Rory's luggage out, apparently wanting to waste no time getting rid of his worrisome passenger shuffling bags.

At the door, Rory turned to her again, ran his thumb along the side of her face, the curve of her cheek in a gentle, innocent gesture he'd often made when they were together and alone. It was sweet and tender. Amy felt her heart breaking. She also felt the sudden increase of tension from the Doctor who had withdrawn across the control room to give them a moment of privacy.

_*Should not touch you that way. Not His, Amy.*_

Rory drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly. She held him, her eyes flying to the Doctor's. His hands were gripping the main console tightly, and he was no longer even pretending to adjust the many knobs and levers there.

_*Not. His.*_

Rory whispered in her ear, the two voices, the one that was audible and the one that echoed in the corridors of her mind, dizzying. "Promise me, Amy. Please?"

She hugged him. "I promise." She hardly even knew what it was she was saying. Who was she promising? What oath was she taking? To whom was she pledging allegiance? Her eyes continued to meet the steady gaze of the Doctor, and she shivered at the sensation coming from him through their connection.

Rory gave her a final squeeze and stepped away from her, turning to walk away. Suddenly, he spun back, pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth against hers hard, desperately, briefly. Just as suddenly, he released her and glared at the Doctor who was inexplicably standing beside them, his hand lightly, lightly resting on Rory's shoulder. He walked out through the doors of the TARDIS for the last time. He did not look back.

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_**Does the quote at the beginning make sense now? I am a shameless Shakespeare-o-phile, and I couldn't resist using that most famous of stage directions here. It just seemed to fit. The rest of the quote did, too, actually...but, as the hated River Song would say...SPOILERS...**_


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: So Rory's gone. (yay...) Meanwhile, back at the Casbah... (haven't _you_ always wanted to write that?) ... our two delicate lovers have problems to resolve. Don't they always? Sigh...  


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He that is not jealous is not in love. ~St. Augustine

If one is forever cautious, can one remain a human being? ~Aleksander Solzhenitsyn

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I.

After Rory left, the Doctor had drawn her into his arms in a comforting hug. She'd felt concern radiating from him, worry about her, and under that, weaker, less important, anger over that last audacious kiss, distant, muted, and layered with relief that Rory was finally gone, that the doors were finally closed. She'd allowed him to hold her, had moved her own hands absently on his back, but she'd slipped away as soon as she could. She could not stand the feeling of anyone holding her at the present, not even him. Her head was whirling, and she felt as though at any moment she was going to scream. She just wanted to be alone. She needed it more than any other thing she could think of in all the universe.

_Because I know now what the rope in tug-of-war feels like. _

She faked a smile, praying desperately that somehow miraculously he wouldn't know the truth of her turmoil through their bond, or at the very least that if he sensed something he wouldn't press her for the answers she wasn't sure she had, and then she'd told him she was going to her room for awhile to rest. She wasn't at all sure she'd pulled it off successfully since he'd simply looked at her for endless moments, something very much like hurt in his eyes flickering briefly, there and then hidden behind a carefully-constructed blankness, but the corners of his lips turned up slightly.

"Sure, Pond. You must be absolutely worn out. Been a monster of a day, hasn't it, what with one thing and another? Go on. I've things to see to here."

He'd set about adjusting the various settings and checking the various monitors and readouts on the TARDIS console, but as she'd been walking out, she'd glanced back over her shoulder at him to see him standing head down, completely still except for one finger which was idly tracing a single switch there. She paused, and he noticed her gaze.

"Doctor," she began, both wanting to be away in private with her own pain but also recognizing pain in him as well.

He waved her away with a small shooing motion. "Off with you, Pond. Really now. Tons of stuff to catch up on here. Can't neglect the TARDIS and not pay for it at some point." He continued to stand there, oddly still for someone whose chief defining characteristic was to be always in a state of frantic motion.

Confused and tired, she walked away.

II.

Amelia Pond lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. She had some serious thinking to do. Rory's last words to her in the kitchen had clung with tenacious teeth and claws.

"_He's not careful, Amy. He thinks he is, but he's not. And that's the most dangerous thing..."_

She could see Rory's earnest, pleading face in front of her as she turned his statement over and over, looked at it from every possible angle, shook it to see if it would ring true like silver.

"_Oh, he'll weep, and he'll miss you, but you'll be the one who pays..."_

That persistent voice pursued her across the landscape of her mind. She could see herself sitting in the darkness with the Weeping Angels all around her, waiting for the end to come, waiting for the touch that would bring...she knew not what. A death he would not even describe for her. She felt again the Venetian "vampire's" bite, the sensation of her life running out with her blood into a monster's mouth, the wondering if this is where she would die because the Doctor had been detained. She shivered when she remembered what it was like to lose all control of herself trying to get rid of Prisoner Zero in a scheme that had been concocted by the Doctor, she and Rory his woefully-unprepared advance guard.

"_You'll be the one who pays..."_

She sat up suddenly, pushed the pillow she'd been holding away angrily.

_No. It's a kind of false safety he believes in. Everybody dies eventually, but not everybody lives. I could have stayed in Leadsworth and gotten hit by a milk truck as I crossed the street one day and never had adventure or StarWhales or ancient history or...or him, at all. I could have lived the little life that Rory wanted and died a little every day. No. Rory is just wrong. He means well, I think, but as it relates to me and the Doctor, he is just wrong._

The set of her jaw changed, became tighter, more determined.

_And, well, even if he's not...if there's a price to be paid for all of this, then so be it. Nothing good in life ever truly came for free. At least when it comes time to pay the fare, I'll be able to say I enjoyed the ride, right?_

She thought of him again as she'd seen him last, standing alone at the controls of his beloved TARDIS, of the woundedness she'd felt coming from him that he was trying so hard to hide.

_Trying to hide it because he didn't want me to see it. Didn't want to add to the load I already carried. Didn't want to cause me more pain than I already had. Thinks of himself, _she realized with an awareness coming from both her own knowledge of him and from the bond they shared, _as the cause of all my current pain, is taking it all on himself again. _

She shook her head, stood up, headed for the door. _I've said it before and I'll say it again. For an exceptionally intelligent man, he's incredibly __**thick **__sometimes..._

II.

She could not find him. He was not in the control room. He was not in the kitchen. With dread, she traced her way to the Armory, expecting to find him bloody, bladed, and fearsome, but it was dark and closed, empty of his presence. He was not in the library or in the pool, nor could she locate him in any of the areas he commonly lurked in fiddling with the TARDIS's inner workings when he was most in need of solitude himself.

_Damnation. Where is he?_

That slight tug at the corner of her mind caught her attention, and she focused in on it much more readily this time, recognizing it as the same one that had helped her locate him before.

_Lead on, then. But hurry._

And she followed that pull down the empty corridors of the TARDIS.

III.

Her steps stopped, to her great surprise, outside the door of the little reading room that had been so much her haunt. She put her hand to the door and it swung open silently. The Doctor was lying on the couch, the soft red throw draped over him, one hand gripped in it like a child might hold a security blanket. The other arm was thrown over his eyes. He did not move as she entered.

She knew immediately that he wasn't sleeping. She could not explain exactly how she knew it, but she knew he was awake, lying there perfectly still on the couch huddled beneath the blanket. She also knew that he wanted her to leave. She could feel his silent will pushing at her like a hundred firm but gentle hands trying to shove her out the door.

_No. I'm going nowhere. You can give that up, you know._

His only response was the flexing of the hand that held the blanket.

She walked over to the couch, folded down to sit on the floor beside it, rested her head on her hands beside his.

_I'm prepared to be quite persistent with this. _

He shifted slightly on the couch. She saw the corners of his mouth turn down, felt the pressure of his will turn up.

_Do you really think that's going to work? Do you really think you're going to be able to...to...mind-shove me out of here? I think you're underestimating the girl from Scotland, Doctor._

He removed his arm, rolled his head away to face the back of the couch.

_Stubborn childish Time Lord bastard. Why are you being this way? _

She reached across him, cupped his cheek, and to her surprise, he did not resist her as she tilted his face back toward hers. His eyes were open, and she saw the swirling conflict in them, the misery, and a resolution that she didn't understand until he began to speak.

"Why are you, Amy?" His voice was soft. He released the blanket to stroke her hair gently, tuck it behind her ear. He said nothing for a moment more. Then, his voice still quiet, "If you like, I can have you home again in the proverbial twinkling of the eye, you know. You have but to ask it."

A small frown furrowed her brow. "What? What do you mean?"

"Amy...I could... feel how much you hurt, how uncertain you were when he left. Maybe...maybe...this wasn't the right choice for you after all. I understand that." His hand was tangling softly in her hair, combing his fingers through it as if savoring the feel of its silky length was somehow comforting to him.

_And oh, it will kill me to let you go, Pond, _he thought. _It will be razors slicing me apart atom by atom to let what is Mine walk away. To never know the beauty of you save in my memories again. Never to hear that music that is your mind singing together with mine again. Never to laugh and run with you from danger into the night again. Never to sit with you in peace and comfort. I might never recover. Might throw myself into the heart of a void and rejoice at the endlessness of the nothing. But if you want to go back to him, if that's truly what would make you happy, then..._

"So you _want_ me to go, then. You're saying you want me to go."

He grimaced. "Want you to go? _Want_ you to go? No. Never. I..."

"'Cause that's what I'm hearing, feeling. You're saying that you will take me back to Leadsworth right this second, put me out, close the doors, leave me behind, and it's nothing to you..." She was goading him deliberately, pushing him.

It worked. He sat up, ran his hands through his hair so that it stood up in many different directions, gestured irritably.

"No! No. How does this always go so bloody wrong? I'm trying to say that I know that being with me, our being together, has cost you. I'm trying to say that I know that it can't be easy to stay here with me when I'm unbearable at times. I'm trying to say..." and his voice gentled. "I'm trying to say that I know Rory meant something to you. Something real. Something important. That he was things to you that I may never be able to be. I felt that, Amy. You knew him much longer than ever you knew me. So...basically, I'm trying to say that if you've decided that the cost is too high, I understand." He tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it. "I live with me all the time, you know, and sometimes I want to run away, too, Pond... Look, what I'm saying is that _whatever_ you want, I will give you."

She pushed herself slowly off the floor to sit beside him on the couch. She looked him over, taking in the wildly mussed hair, the frustrated expression, the pain still trying to hide there in his eyes, and she hid her smile.

_Ah, Doctor... _Her heart filled. She could barely stand it. She knew exactly what she wanted from him, for him, for herself.

"Anything I ask you for, then," she murmured quietly, thoughtfully, seriously.

He went very still, took a deep breath. "Yes, Amy."

"No matter what it is that I decide at this moment, that's the choice you'll honor? You won't get angry or try to argue with me and change my mind... "

He closed his eyes, and he leaned back. She saw his hands press into the fabric of the couch. "No. Your choice is your choice. Always, Amelia."

She nodded. "Okay. Okay, then. I've decided." And she pushed up from the couch.

IV

He watched her stand, but he couldn't bear to watch her go. His head bowed; his heart plummeted. _She was really going. She was going to go. No more Pond, no more Amy, no more Amelia..._

He wanted to throw back his head and howl at the unfairness of it all... _Whatever fool said to have loved and lost is better should try it sometime..._

But suddenly, he felt her hands on his shoulders, and he looked up, startled. He managed to raise his hands just in time to put them on her hips as she straddled his lap. Both his hearts kicked into high gear as he looked at her face so near now to his own, at her sweet ripe strawberry mouth only a breath away as she settled herself against him.

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, Doctor," she flexed her fingers lightly on his shoulders, shifted her weight in a very pleasant way on his lap. His hands gripped her hips. _What is this? Isn't she about to ask me to...I thought she was going to tell me she wanted to go home...This isn't the way...What? What? _His mind felt as though it were processing through a significant lag, and he realized that she was looking at him as though she expected a response.

His mind rushed to cobble something together. "I... yes. I did. Yes. Anything you want." _But what is it that she wants? And why do I feel like I just stepped off a high cliff with no warning..._

She smiled, her grin was dangerous, evil, tempting. He wanted to, _needed to_ lick her bottom lip, capture it between his teeth, kiss her, taste her. And then she shifted against him again. He could scent her pheromones rising, could scent the need of his bonded mate, and it was stripping away every other consideration... Her desire demanded satisfaction, and his body was responding.

"Is that a promise, Doctor?" She skimmed her fingertips lightly over his bowtie now, tracing the edges delicately.

_*Anything you want, Pond. Name it. Tell me. It will be yours.* Though I have to plunder worlds for it... _His breath was coming harder now, and his fingers on her hips were restless, wanted to roam, to seek, to caress, and yet...

They sat separated by only her will, only a handsbreadth. Their heads angled, instinctively preparing for what must come.

"In that case, what I really want you to give me is..."

And everything that was Hers inside him held its breath, prayed prostrate on the floor before its idol, begged that no mercy be given as she leaned forward to end the separation, as her fingers tugged the end of the bowtie, undoing it, as she pressed him back against the couch with fire in her eyes, as she murmured the word he'd hoped to hear but never really expected to receive...

"..._you_."

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**Aaaanndd scene. Hmm. Wonder what they'll get up to next? Guesses? I'm thinking a nice quiet evening of crossword puzzles or board games. You?**

**REVIEW!**

**(I write faster.)  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Anyone up for Scrabble? No? What about Monopoly? Still no takers? There was even a suggestion of a delightful evening of calculus... What? Still no? Sigh. Well, I guess you must all be hungry then... (I can't call this one key lime folks. It's pure lemon meringue. You have been warned. If you don't like that, I suggest you summarize this one mentally as "Whoo. Damn," and wait tranquilly for Chapter 19. _But_ if you do partake of said pie, there had better be a review and a good one!)

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Every time I hold you I begin to understand,  
Everything about you tells me I'm your man.  
I live my life to be with you.  
No one can do the things you do.  
Anything you want, you got it.  
Anything you need, you got it.  
Anything at all, you got it.  
Baby!  
Anything you want  
Anything you need  
Anything at all

"Anything You Want" ~ Roy Orbison

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I.

"Yes or no, Doctor?" She leaned in, whispered her mouth over his, soft, sensual, teasing, there and gone. Her hands caressed his chest, fingertip coming up to trace the collar of his shirt. "You said you'd give me anything. So will you really give me what I want, live up to what you've promised, or not?"

As Amy pressed him back against the couch, her words and her actions loosed the Doctor's restraint, and he let his desperate hands roam. They pulled her to him, one sliding lower, fingers fanning wide to cup her, pull her more tightly into contact with him as the other hand tunneled beneath her heavy hair to rest on the back of her neck. She wanted to groan just at the feeling of him already hard, already ready as his hips shifted beneath hers. She looked down at him expectantly, hands braced lightly against his chest.

His eyes were full of storms and a wicked grin slipped across his mouth. "Madam, I live but to serve. You find me totally at your disposal, yours to command. Use me as you will." And he removed his hands from her, slid them across the back of the couch, leaned back, watched her.

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment. Then it clicked. _Yours to command... _Her eyes grew wide.

He knew the exact moment she realized what he was saying. His inward chuckle became a moan as the possibilities of it spiraled across the link to him from her scheming mind. _Sweet creative little Pond. Going to be the death of me with things like that... _he thought as he saw some of the things she considered and discarded, as her fingertips began to stroke small circles on his shoulders in reaction to what she was planning to do. _And the pity is, she doesn't even know what she's doing. Can you imagine if she were aware..._ He didn't know whether to laugh or cry as the erotic images continued to tumble across his mind, a different kind of teasing foreplay.

_*Any and/or all of that. In any order you like. Oh yes, Pond, please.* _ Despite his intention to let her lead, he brought his hand up to trace the contours of her cheek, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck again and pulled her down for a hungry kiss, unable to resist the blush that stained her cheeks at his comment. His mouth devoured hers, tongue seeking access to plunder with a low growl she could feel as a vibration against her more than hear.

She made a needy little sound into his mouth in the kiss, and he fought the need to roll her under him and simply _take, claim_. He shivered with the effort. A part of him wanted to, needed to, especially after seeing Rory touch her, kiss her. He knew from the images he'd just seen, though, that she had something else in mind. He'd promised her the reins of the pace, though, had seen the things she desired, and he would not go back on that.

So he pulled back, laid his head on the back of the couch, put his hands there again when he was sure she was steady, and looked at her with eyes that burned. "Do with me what you will, Amelia. I am Yours." _*But for the sake of all that is good and holy, please don't spend too much longer just thinking about it, or I can't promise to be responsible for the consequences...* _

II.

She looked at him lounging there against the back of the couch, felt him hard as stone beneath her, and his pose and his words were such an aphrodisiac that the first command that tumbled from her lips was almost, "Just fuck me, then."

He'd always been in control. Even though he'd always been gentle and concerned with her first and foremost, even though his pleasure had been in giving her hers, he'd always, always led. She hadn't been sure he'd even known how to relinquish that, how to lay it aside. She wondered now if he truly could. The fact that he was even offering, that he was here now, wanting so much, _and she could feel it, feel it like a hot tide surging around her, through her, pulling at her, _and willing to allow her to do whatever she liked, however she liked, willing to let her tell him what to do even, made her hot as hell, it must be admitted.

_My very own Doctor to play with. But where to begin? This is an embarrassment of riches... _

The corners of his lips turned up in amusement, and he tilted his head, no help coming from him at all.

She looked down at that mobile mouth and she made her decision. She leaned down, slipped her fingers into his hair, and she took a hot, greedy kiss from him. She felt his hands come around her slowly, carefully, as if he were trying to restrain himself, and she realized that was exactly the case. She lapped at his lower lip the way he'd done to her a hundred times, felt him smile, felt him open his mouth, and when he did, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He responded with a pleasured sigh, sucking on her tongue, stroking with his own softly in such a way that made her toes curl, made everything inside her tighten and then liquefy, made her try to slide closer to him when they were already pressed as close as they could be.

His hands rested lightly on the middle of her back, just holding her against him. She felt the tension in him from not touching her, and she realized that she wanted him to touch her, wanted his hands to caress her.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than he groaned in something that sounded like relief, and one of his hands slid around her to cup her breast over her clothing. She murmured her approval against his mouth, intensified her kiss. His hand remained still, however, as he continued to meet her increasingly demanding kiss.

She squirmed a little against him.

_Wish he'd get under my shirt, wish he'd do that thing he does with his thumb and..._

Again, the transition from her thought to his action was almost instant. His hand streaked under the edge of her tshirt, skimmed lightly up her abdomen, to cup her again, his thumb stroking over the aroused peak of her nipple. She gasped, breaking the kiss, head falling back. _Did he? Is he? Oh, God...that's good..._

He smiled, continuing the motion of his hand. _*Starting to see how it works, Pond?*_

She met his gaze. His fingers continued to tease her. "I...I think...so..." She leaned into a kiss again, and he met her halfway, fiercely because he knew that's what she wanted, mouths clashing, hot, brief, and then she leaned back again. He had not stopped stroking.

_So...so...all I have to do is..._

_*Right. Your wish, my command. You know. That old saw.*_

A surge of pleasure raced through her body at the possibilities of it. Images of the two of them, images of him doing things to her, of her doing things to him, all of it at the whim of her thought flickered through her mind.

_*Ah, be careful, Amelia. Don't issue any invitations that you don't intend to be taken, my dear. Make sure you really want those things because I will do whatever you show me. All the restraint today is on your end. Because if it's left up to me...*_

He fed her a few of his own, carefully chosen, of what he'd like to do to her, of what he'd like her to have him do to her, of what he'd like her to do to him in return...

Her body arched against his, hips jerking, and she cried out, shuddering. He pulled her against him, holding her as she panted, mind racing.

"I just...Did I...how did I just..."

He kissed her neck gently, nuzzled. "Sorry. Should have warned you that was possible... Different sort of stimulation, see..."

She laughed. "I guess so. That _was_..different..."

He shrugged, grinned. "Always trying to show you new things, Pond. You know, make sure you see the wonders of the universe, all that..."

Recovering, she leaned back, considered him anew.

He was all too smug. It was time to do something about that. She slid off his lap to sit next to him on the couch. He looked at her questioningly.

"Next?"

She tilted her head to the side, put finger to her lips, and looked at him.

"Interesting choice, that," he murmured, looking at her a moment before he got up and paced away a few steps and began to slowly undo the buttons running down the front of his shirt.

III.

He stripped slowly and with no self-consciousness at all, each piece of clothing falling to the floor as he discarded it, forgetting it as soon as it left his hand. His focus was totally on her, his eyes intense on hers as he toed off his shoes, slipped down the red suspenders he'd put on that morning to match the already undone bowtie dangling from under his collar, removed his shirt. By the time he was down to his undershirt and boxers, she wanted to touch him, wanted to run her hands over the pale skin being exposed, but still she sat, unwilling to miss a moment of this display. He pulled the undershirt over his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes briefly, smiling at her just a little, and her gaze devoured his bared chest, the lean strength of him there.

He skimmed his hands down to the waistband of his boxers, rested them there just a moment, a deliberate tease.

Her eyes flashed up to his, impatient, hungry.

_*Yes, ma'am. So sorry...*_

The boxers slipped to the floor, and he stood before her fully aroused, completely bare, completely still, a challenge in his eyes. He put his hands behind his back, stood at military attention, feet slightly apart as if he were a soldier being reviewed. The slight arrogance and amusement that he always carried himself with were fully on display.

For a moment, she just looked. Looked and focused on letting him know how much she enjoyed what she was seeing. His eyes darkened, and the amusement there disappeared. She rose, circled him closely but did not touch, continued to feed him her perceptions.

_Gorgeous. Built like...like a swimmer...like a runner...all the power in your legs and shoulders. Pale, but that's what happens when you never get in the sun...always hiding inside that suit jacket..._

She trailed one fingertip across his shoulderblade, down one arm as she slowly came around him. He shivered slightly but remained still otherwise, tracking her with green-gold eyes.

_Such strength here, but it's not showy. It doesn't have to be with you. It's elegant, graceful, beautiful. _

She stood before him. His head was slightly tilted back, and he considered her from under his long lashes. She took note of the fact that he was breathing just a little faster than usual and felt a great deal of satisfaction in that, in the tension she saw in his body, that she felt coming from him through the bond. She brought her fingertips to his chest, skimmed them lightly over the muscles there, watched them react to her touch.

_Yes. Beautiful is definitely the word, Doctor. _

She brushed her right thumb lightly across his nipple, and his eyes slid closed, his head moved just a little. She felt the ripple of pleasure come to her across the bond. She did it again, stepped closer to him, lowered her head to kiss the center of his chest gently, brought her left hand to tease the the sensitive nub of his other. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and his shoulders shifted as his gripped his hands together tightly behind his back to keep from putting them on her. She smiled. His hearts were thrumming beneath her hands.

She leaned down a bit to replace one of her hands with her mouth, circling with just the tip of her tongue before lapping at him. Her hands began to move down his abdomen in slow lazy circles. She turned her nails against him lightly as she went. He made a muted noise, and she saw his hands come to his side, close into fists.

She raised her head, looked back at his eyes, and they were much more black than green-gold. The want in them was breathtaking, made her want to lie down for him right there, made her resent the presence of the clothing that still blocked her body from his as if it were a mortal enemy.

_Kiss me. Now. Right now._

His hands crushed her to him, and he wrapped his hands in her hair, angling her head for a savage kiss. She gave every bit as good as she got, her fingers coming up to pull at his hair, grip at his shoulder, and she wrapped a denim-clad leg around his naked ones as she tried to get closer as instinct and desire were demanding. His hands found the bottom of her tshirt and they parted long enough for him to throw it across the room before she pressed herself against him again, both of them sighing, little meaningless noises escaping them at the new pleasure of so much flesh touching flesh.

Suddenly, though, she shoved him back. _No. Not yet. Not done with you yet. _ Her eyes searched his. _I...I...want more...Is that okay?_

He let go immediately, returning to his previous position, folding his hands behind his back, staring at her with predatory eyes, tongue flickering out to lick the taste of her off his lips. She felt him wrestling his desire back under control. _*Anything you want, Ms. Pond. I'm Yours, after all.*_

_Mine? _Curiosity. She'd never thought if it that way before.

Something about that word made her dizzy, hot, hungry. She stepped up again, emboldened, and she traced the nail of her index finger down his chest across his abdomen, circled his belly button, watching the muscles contract in reaction to the sensation.

_Mine. _Testing it out. Seeing if it fit. She'd surely felt the meaning of it as he'd made love to her, as he'd marked her... Yeah. She rather liked it, actually...

She raised her gaze to his, once again, as she slowly trailed the tip of the finger lower, through the fine trail of hair that began low on his abdomen, lower, lower...

_*Pond*_ His eyes held hers, and he swallowed hard as her finger traced the length of him, as her hand came up to encircle him, exploring, caressing gently. Her other hand joined the first, sliding lower to cup and tease.

_See, Doctor? Beautiful. Everywhere. I told you. _

She fed him what she was feeling, the power, the lust, and all-consuming desire to please him she suddenly felt as she had him there in her hands hearing him making those soft, needy noises. His eyes slid shut again, and his hands rose to grasp his own hair instead of her in a desperate bid for control as she let him know what was coming next.

He felt her lips, a hot licking kiss, against his chest, an open-mouthed nip against his ribs, and having his eyes closed was no protection. Her strawberry tongue flickered into his belly button, and he shuffled his feet as her wicked hands continued to stroke and tease.

_Open your eyes, Doctor._

Obedient, helpless, he looked down, saw her there on her knees in front of him, shivered at the slow smile that curved her red, red lips.

_*How fast you learn...*_

Her response was only one word, but it set him afire.

_**Mine.**_

And she leaned forward and take him with agonizing slowness deep into the heat of her mouth.

IV.

The first words she heard from the Doctor's mind, the TARDIS did not translate. She laughed a little to herself, recognizing that as a marker of Gallifreyan profanity. Every bit as slowly as she'd drawn him in, she pulled her mouth off him again, stroking her tongue against the underside, sucking gently. He was panting, his fingers white-knuckled in his own hair, staring down at her as if she were a miracle and a monster and salvation and destruction all in one ginger package.

She licked her lips and looked up at him with a smug expression all of her own, bringing her hand back up to stroke him gently. "Mmm. Cinnamon and spices. I should have known..."

He was still looking at her as if she might either disappear or attack at any moment. Or fail to do either. And that any of the above would be catastrophic. "Pond..." Desperation.

"Yes? Oh, what? Again?"

_***Pond...***_

_Don't worry, Doctor. _She brought her mouth back to him, licked slowly, lovingly, as if she were running her tongue over a lollipop. _Told you, didn't I?_ _I'm not nearly done with you yet._

V.

She worked him with her lips and her hands. She teased him with her nimble tongue and with the most delicate possible touches of her teeth. She tormented him with hot laving strokes and with little suckling kisses. He writhed beneath her but he did not touch her. His hips bucked occasionally as she wore down his self-control, but his hands remained fisted at his sides, pulled at his hair, ran over his face in disbelief as she sent wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him.

_*Amelia...you must...stop...Amelia...I can't...*_

She only intensified her actions. _No. Not done yet. More, Doctor. Give me more..._

His iron control began to crack. He slipped the fingers of one hand down and into her hair, feeling the pleasure of the satin of it slide through as he gripped her head. She felt his hips thrust once, twice against her, stop.

_Yes. Give me. Give me, Doctor. Let go. _

He made a noise that was lust and need and so intense as to border on despair. His other hand found her hair, slipped around cradle her face, shaking fingers pressing against her temple. She traced down him again with her teeth, worked the sensitive crown with her lips and tongue. He came up on his toes, back bowing.

_Yes. Like that. Give me that. Mine._

He was speaking now, hoarsely murmuring words in his language that she didn't understand at all, his hands gripping her head, his hips rocking helplessly in short thrusts as his control shattered. Moments later his climax swept over him like a huge wave. She felt it rip through her, felt his pleasure become her own through the bond as the taste of him, cinnamon and spices, filled her mouth.

V.

His knees gave out and she caught him as he fell. He seemed dazed, but he pulled her to him, held her against his chest as he panted. She laid her head there, listened to the frantic rhythm of the two hearts there, smiled, pleased at the thought that she'd been responsible for that.

_*Yes, you were. I think you bloody near stopped one of them with that. Where did you **learn **that, Pond? I mean...wait. No. Probably better if you **don't** answer that one. Never mind...*_

She turned her face against his chest, laughing at the little rill of jealously that flowed through him briefly, kissed him. He pulled her up to kiss her properly, their lips lingering together. He held her close and they lay on the rug beside the green fire just enjoying the contact. After awhile, as his hearts began to slow she stroked his arm absently. He smiled against her hair.

"Mmm... Not had enough of me yet, Ms. Pond?"

She smiled back. "Well, technically, I _suppose_ I've had you, but..."

"But... I think I hear a question lurking there..."

"I seem to remember you saying something once about not playing by human rules..."

"Ah."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"Right."

He fell silent again, his hand rubbing her arm gently from shoulder to elbow and back, very slowly. His leg, tangled together with her denim-clad one, shifted upwards. She was extremely aware of every movement he was making. He tilted his head and looked at her a moment.

"Well, we mostly actually _have _been playing by the human rules for the most part."

"_Have_ we? How do you figure that, then?"

"Well...yeah, I mean _mostly_. I mean, as much as _possible_. There are some bits," and here he sent a sensation through their bond that made her shudder and turn her face into his shoulder on a moan, "that can't exactly work that way, but I have tried to keep the playing field familiar." His eyes glittered, something hot, something dangerous there. "Why, Amy? Are you trying to tell me you'd like to play by my rulebook for a change?" She sensed carefully-chained excitement coming from him, something he was trying very hard to restrain.

_What the heck? You only live once, right?_

He grinned widely. _*Ah, Pond. Not necessarily. But that's a different game, altogether...*_

And he leaned down to capture her lips with his own.

VI.

For a long time, they simply lay there on the rug, kissing. He caressed her shoulders and back gently, but made no other motion towards removing the rest of her clothing or escalating the intimacy between them. From the level of excitement she was feeling from him, she'd expected...well..._not this._

_Doctor?_

_*Patience, little Pond. Patience. You need to be very sure. Very, very sure. Because once you disengage the safeties, once you tell me that **this** is what you want from me..." _He made a little purring sound, turned his face into her neck, rubbing against her, and she felt him kiss her there, felt the quick flicker of his tongue against her skin.

_So you're still waiting for me to tell you? _

_*Oh yes, Amy. Most especially for this.* _

She felt a little surprise at that, had thought that he would take the lead again. His lips worked their way up her neck to her ear. His hands continued the same gentle circling as before.

_*That's not the way this works in my rulebook, Amy.*_

_So explain._

He smiled against her, ran his hands down her to press her body against his closely. Then he reached down to thread the fingers of one hand through hers as sucked her earlobe between his lips. She shivered at the sensation. Such tiny things, but somehow so arousing...

_*The Mate holds all the power in the bond. She must choose. She must choose to establish it initially, to intertwine their minds. She must choose to allow all true forms of intimacy. He can court, entreat, can seduce, can pursue, but only She can release him fully. She knows that when She does, He will be all-consuming.*_

His hand in hers flexed softly.

_*Once Her choice is made, once **you** consent, Amy, if you do, I'll take you. Until I know that my Mate is completely satisfied. In every way. Whatever that means. Whatever that requires.*_

She couldn't breathe. Could barely think. She felt his lips press against the corner of her mouth. That voice continued in her mind, pure seduction, pure temptation...

_*So now you know the rules of the game, Amelia.*_

He kissed her, just a brush of his mouth across hers, a question, an invitation. She couldn't move, felt paralyzed.

_*The only remaining question then, my beautiful Mate, my exquisite, lovely, divine, delicious little Mate, is...do you want to play?*_

He pulled away slightly, studied her with those star-filled eyes, and she considered briefly what he'd told her. There really was only one answer... Freeing herself from the lethargy that his kisses and caresses, that his words in her mind had created, she raised her hand and stroked his cheek.

He turned his face into her hand, bringing his own to hold it, pressing a kiss to the palm.

_Yes._

She felt his body tense. He looked down at her again, his grip over her hand tightening.

_*Ah, Pond. You choose? You're sure? Because there can be no turning back from it...*_

_Yes. Yes, I choose. _She felt a thrill of nerves, of anticipation, of pure desire curl through her.

_*Then let's play...*_

VII.

His hands were suddenly everywhere. Her clothing was disappearing with startling rapidity, and then she was naked as he, feeling the softness of the rug beneath her, the heat of the green fire bathing her body. He lay beside her on his side, his eyes raking over her briefly, proprietarily.

He ran his hand down from her shoulder to caress one breast boldly. His gaze held hers as he lowered his head and flicked the tip of his tongue over the tight peak. She reached for him, threaded her fingers through his hair, and he did it again, no more than that, that single tease, that hot stroke against her. She tugged lightly. Again he teased, circling her nipple this time but still refusing her the hard contact she wanted, opening his mouth to nip her lightly on the soft underside of her breast. She murmured in frustration, pulled harder.

He nuzzled, allowed the tip to slip just between his lips, and she mewled, shifted. He relented, opening his mouth to suck deep as she arched in reaction. His hand slid down her abdomen to cup her where she was throbbing, needy for him, his fingertip tracing over her lightly. She parted her thighs for him, opening, craving his touch. His response was direct; he buried his finger inside her hard, deep, and she gasped, hips rocking in surprise as pleasure filled her. He made a noise of approval against her breast, released her nipple with a final kiss, brought his mouth back to hers as he began to move his hand.

She had been in a state of arousal for so long that when he brought his thumb to slide, to circle, to stroke firmly over her as well, she felt the orgasm rushing toward her. She grabbed at his shoulders to pull him over her but he would not be moved. She grabbed at his arm, but his only response was to suck her bottom lip, to slide another finger into her on the next slick thrust increasing the pleasure, making her buck beneath him.

_Doctor...Doctor, please..._

_*Please? Was this what you're after?*_ His finger curled inside her, stroking a place that made her entire body bow up, every muscle clenching as lightning struck inside her. _*You'll have to tell me, Pond. Perhaps this was what you were requesting...*_ There was a decided smugness in his tone. He was sitting up now, had maneuvered himself to sit between her spread thighs, was watching the motion of his hands, the response of her body, and he brought his other hand into play, running it down her leg before gently caressing the swollen bud of her between his thumb and forefinger as he continued to stroke in and out of her below. She cried out, eyes closing, head thrashing. She was so close again...so very close...she needed...she wanted...if he'd just...

_*No, Pond. What you really meant was... please this... wasn't it?*_

And he lowered his head. She came, screaming his name, completely knocked out of herself as the wave of ecstasy hit her.

He hauled her up, pulling her roughly onto her knees into an embrace, his mouth ravaging hers before she was even aware that she _was_ again. _*More. Mine. More.* _She could feel him pressed against her stomach, and she felt her own desire rise again, hot and savage, felt his every bit as dangerous, every bit as powerful sliding through her. She sank her nails into his shoulders, bit at his mouth in demand. He growled against her, one hand streaking up her back to fist in her hair tightly, using that hold to pull her away slightly.

Her breasts were heaving and she pulled against his restraint, wanting none of it, wanting him back against her, wanting him inside her. Something flared in his eyes, wild and dark and glorious, and he tugged her back against him again, meeting her kiss for ravenous kiss. His hands slipped down her body to her hips, lifted her, and she gasped with surprise and delight as she felt him position her, felt the head of him rub teasingly at her slick entrance. His eyes sought hers and he held them as he pulled her down, slowly impaling her on the rigid length of him. She arched back, wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders for support, for leverage as he began to move beneath her.

He used his hands to lift her and maneuver her against him. She rocked against him, incoherent sounds of pleasure falling from her lips as he picked up his pace, spread his knees wider to thrust harder. She fell backwards in a graceful arc and he followed, mouth finding and ravaging her breasts as she felt another climax exploding through her.

As before, he didn't stop to wait for her to recover. He drew her firmly up against his body, kissing her lingeringly, continuing to caress her, hands gentler now, his hips slowly stroking beneath hers.

_How long...? You haven't... How long...can you...?_

_*I told you, Pond. As long as it takes. Whatever you need. Anything you want.*_

She put her face into his shoulder, groaning. He kissed her neck, and she felt his smile.

_*Besides. You're making a huge presumption there.*_

_I... am? What?_

_*That this has been all for you.*_

_But you haven't...not since I...not since the first time..._

_*Just because I haven't had a physical climax doesn't mean I haven't had pleasure. There's more than one way to skin a cat, if you'll pardon the particular metaphor, Amy.*_

His hips continued to rock beneath hers, and he slipped a hand down between them to stroke her where they joined, lightly. The whole situation had started to seem like a dream. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation while she was astride him...while he was...

_*Oh say it, Amy...just once...finish just one of those hot dirty little sentences...just there in your head where only I can hear you...* _He kissed her lingeringly, temptingly.

She blushed, shook her head. He sighed.

_*Okay. We'll save that for later, then, perhaps...*_

_Later?_

He smiled wickedly, laid her back on the brightly-colored rug.

VIII.

She'd lost track of...everything. There was no place except this place. She had no purpose except to touch and be touched. There was no sound except the snapping of the fire and the noises of pleasure that they made together.

He had been gentle and he had been wild. He had touched her as if she were made of glass at times and at others he'd handled her as if she were a flexible metal that he was in the process of forging, bending to a shape of his own devising. He had brought her to climax repeatedly, and each time, just as she had thought it was over, he had rekindled her to new and desperate need.

Now she sensed something different in him, something changing...

He kissed her, teased her until she was wild again, savage as he, clawing at him as he rose above her, and he took her hands, pinned them down, rolled her over so she lay face down against the thick carpet, and he brought his body down on top of her, holding her down. She writhed in abandon as he settled his weight against her, releasing her hands to push her hair away and kiss her neck. She felt him hard and ready against her derrière, and she pushed back against him, eager to have what he was offering. He ran ungentle hands down her, pushed her thighs wide, settled between them, slid himself over her slickly from behind, and she arched up in invitation at the feeling of him so close to where she wanted him.

With a growl, he slammed into her, seating himself as deep as he could go. She reared beneath him, and he pulled her up to her hands and knees. He held her hips, pounding into her, and she moved with him, her eyes sliding closed. He slipped a hand around to find the slick bud of her, began to stroke it, hard, fast, and she cried out, pinned between the twin pleasures of him buried inside and his wicked skillful fingers. The orgasm she felt building was somehow beyond all the others, and the thought shot through her addled mind that she wondered if anybody had ever died from too much good sex...

He kissed her neck, laughed against her skin, wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her up to rest against his chest, straddling his thighs, still rocking, his hand still plundering between her legs. She reached up behind her to wrap her arms around his neck for support in this position, eyes sliding closed. She felt the fingertips of the hand he'd used to haul her against him caress her face, slide up to stroke her temple, circling, and she moaned.

_*No. Don't close those eyes, Pond. You're missing something exquisite. Look down.*_

She whimpered. _Can't. Too...too much..._ She felt his lips brushing over that spot on her neck.

_*Open your eyes. Watch what I'm doing to you, watch how I'm **doing **you. How I'm touching you. The pleasure I take in pleasuring you. Look at my hands, Amy. Look down. Look now.* _He brushed the thumb of the hand at her temple down her jaw.

She opened her eyes, looked down between her thighs at his busy fingers slick and glistening with her moisture, at their joined bodies, and she felt the orgasm hit her. As it did, she felt him open his mouth over her neck, felt him bite her hard, and it caused another spasm to wrack her, toss her higher still. _Oh God, this is what I saw in his head, what I saw in his fantasy..._ She felt his body tense as he wrapped one arm around her, holding her tight to him, hand still at her temple, mouth still marking her as his own, his hips hitching hard as he finally shattered.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hopefully, everybody had their fill of pie. For those of you who have citrus allergies and chose to forgo it, Chapter 18 can be recapped pretty accurately by saying, simply, our two main characters should be very pleased with each other, life, the universe, and everything right about now. Also, the Doctor is legendary in more ways than were previously known (even though, as far as we know, he doesn't have a spiffy moniker to go with this particular set of skills. Unless one of you has cooked one up, that is...). So everything is hunky-dorey. Or you'd think so, anyway, wouldn't you?

* * *

**

To find someone who will love you for no reason, and to shower that person with reasons, that is the ultimate happiness.

~Robert Brault

Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

~Robert Heinlein

* * *

I.

She awoke warm and snug, stirred slightly, felt his arms tighten around her to draw her closer to him. He murmured softly, shifting, words that were not English slipping from his lips, and subsided into continued slumber with his face pressed against the curve of her neck. She felt the slow steady rhythm of his dual heartbeat against her, ran a gentle, soothing hand down his back, careful not to wake him.

At some point, he'd managed to pull the red blanket off the couch and drape it over them. Between the warmth of the fire which burned low, emerald flames barely flickering, and the shared heat of their bodies, she felt completely comfortable.

_Might never move, in fact..._

"Mmm. Good plan. Bordering on brilliant. I highly approve, in fact." His voice was half muffled as he spoke into her hair.

She smiled, brought her hands up to thread through his hair, gently pulling his head back so she could see his face. Lazy, heavily-lidded summer meadow eyes met hers.

"Hello," he grinned. "Kiss?"

She rolled her eyes but shifted so her mouth could meet his, let his head go, and enjoyed the peaceful melding of their lips, soft, undemanding.

He pulled away to settle his face back in the curve of her neck again with a sigh, and once again she stroked her hand down his spine. He arched his back a little into her caress with a little rumbling noise of pleasure, and she was reminded of nothing quite so much as a giant cat lying by the fire being stroked. They lay like that for a long time, and she thought he was asleep again, was almost asleep again herself when she heard his voice come to her through the bond.

_*'Course, there is a bit of a problem with the brilliant plan, Pond.*_

She stirred slightly, smiled as she came back awake. "And that would be?"

_*Hungry... Next time, you should bring food when you come looking for me. You know, pack a hamper. Be prepared for...whatever might happen.* _She felt him smiling, felt him kiss her tenderly.

She snorted and pushed him away gently, rolling over to begin trying to find her clothes. "Ha. Next time you run off to be a stubborn moody bastard hiding in the depths of the TARDIS, you bring a well-stocked picnic lunch with you yourself. I think it's the least you can do."

He continued to lay where she'd rolled him, watching her move around the reading room and grinning like a madman.

"What?" She paused in the process of trying to locate her jeans. "What's got you smiling like the Cheshire cat about that statement?"

_*Ah, Pond...can't you guess?*_

_I wouldn't know where to start to try..._

_*We're already planning for next time...*_

She snorted and threw his shirt at him. He simply lay on the floor and laughed as it draped itself lightly over his face.

II.

As she finished pulling on her pants and sweater again, her toe bumped into the heavy volume she'd spent so much time reading. It had gotten knocked under the edge of the couch what with one thing and another. She extracted it and sat down to wait for the Doctor to finish fussing with his clothes so they could go forage in the TARDIS kitchen before getting cleaned up and deciding what to do next. He was talking about something, but she was only giving him half her attention as she ran her hand over the elaborate design of the cover and smiled.

He became aware of her lack of attention when her only responses were "Mmm" and "Um-hmm" and turned away from the mantel to see her thumbing through the book. He came over to sit beside her.

"What've you got there, Pond?" He craned his neck slightly and looked at it in her lap. "Oh. That. Right." His tone was completely dismissive, bored, even. "Ready to go find some nourishment, eh?" He clapped his hands together, rubbing them, made as if to rise.

"What, Doctor? You don't like fairy tales? This from my own personal wolfie, sharp teeth and all?" She just couldn't resist...

He grinned. "It's not that. I rather like fairy tales. Some more than others, obviously." He gently stroked the mark he'd left on her neck, took his hand away again. "No. Really, though. I've always found them both entertaining and useful. Legends, folk tales, stories of myth. Good stuff. Great fun. Learn a tremendous amount about a people by looking at their fairy tales, what they value, what they choose to pass along to their young. Powerful little capsules of culture, they are. That, however, is not what is in that book in your lap, you know." He made to slip it out of her hands, but she yanked it back from him slightly before he could.

She blinked at him. "What do you mean, that's not what's in this book? What is it if it isn't fairy stories? They sound just like the fairy stories from when I was little..."

He looked at her patiently. "That, my dear Pond, is a historical chronicle of a planet called Rishell. You know how researchers and folklorists believe that there's a little tiny seed of truth in the fairy tales and myths of every culture? Well, on Rishell, that seed sprouted, grew roots and leaves, and turned into a giant tangled vine."

She looked down at the book again, ran a thoughtful finger over one of the illustrations, one showing a winged maiden and a handsome man, both of whom had pointed ears and sharp features such as elves on Earth are sometimes given in some portrayals.

"No and no, Amy. I'm not bloody taking you there, especially not during that particular period. So don't ask."

"That's not fair, Doctor. Have you ever been?" She scooted a little closer to him on the couch in her curious eagerness.

"Yes." He stubbornly did not elaborate.

"Oh, come on, then. You have to tell me about it, at least. Do they really have wings? Can they fly with them? Is this just a costume? Do they really look like the elves from Lord of the Rings?"

_Those movies... _He held up his hand. "Pond. They're not a planet of ….of...oh good Lord, that I'm about to say this, even..._Legolases_...or maybe that should be _Legolasi_, anyway, blonds running about in tights with bows making friendly on quests with woodland boon companions if that is what you've got in your mind. Yes, they look a bit _elfy_, for lack of a better working term at the moment, but at certain periods of their history, they're spectacularly not very nice to be around."

"Well, you haven't taken me anywhere like _that_, so far, now have you?" She thought loudly at him _Daleks/Weeping Angels_ and also threw a couple of other scenes of nearly-tragic adventure in for make-weight.

"Um. Well. Those times were accidents... I had no idea there would be danger to you..."

"Mmm..." She let him fidget and twitch a moment more, and then she reached out and smoothed down his lapels. "Besides, Doctor, isn't what you've just said probably true of every planet, every group of beings at _some_ point in their history? Maybe you just visited...um...when they were having...a bit of a rough patch?"

His stubborn, pouting face was on. "No."

"No, what? Not a rough patch or something new? What are you objecting to now?"

"No, every group of beings does _not_ have a rough patch. I can name ten, no twenty races, right off the top of my head who are just as sweet as custard and have been from the first moment they became sentient. Let's see there are the..." He gestured for emphasis, brought his hands up to begin counting off the individual species he'd promised her.

Her hands on his lapels wrapped around the fabric to tow him forward slightly so she could shut him up in the way she'd found most pleasant and effective. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her. They gently moved apart some time later.

"So of all the places you can take me, this one, this teensie, tiny place you've already been and know all the pitfalls of, this place it would make me so very happy to go to, you won't do that, then?"

"Amy..." He knew a guilt trip when it was being laid on him, knew she knew he knew it, but that didn't stop it from being damnably effective.

"Even though I can't possibly be less than perfectly safe with you anywhere I go... You still won't take me here, not even for a short little trip so I can see the fairy tale empire?"

"'S not Disney World, y'know..." he muttered, turning it over in his mind.

Foreboding shot through him, but she was smiling at him so hopefully, wanted it so much, and really, Rishell _was_ beautiful. He thought again of moon melons and golden castles. There were periods he could take her to where there weren't serf/slaves working the fields. Yes. He could do this. He would just take the greatest of care about when they arrived.

Because as always, there was something he was keeping back. Something he wasn't telling her. What he wasn't telling her this time was how the High Empire of Rishell ended. There was a great prophecy about it, that it all ended in destruction and ruin, that the Great Lords fell, were crushed utterly, and then Rishell had picked itself up and rebuilt to become something different, something new. That had all happened long after his last visit. Only the prophecies about it had been in existence. He'd been much younger then, cavalier and careless in a way that made him shudder to think about now, a man who never assumed that the prophecies of any world had anything to do with him. He wasn't sure now whether it was his sometimes admittedly-overinflated ego or a simple numeric analysis of the statistics of situations in which he found himself, but whenever he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that any place had a doomsday prophecy hanging over it like the Sword of Damocles, he'd begun to feel a tingling itch between his shoulderblades and the urge to look up.

He looked at the face of his Mate again, felt her hopeful excitement like champagne bubbles through the bond, and he knew he couldn't resist her. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

"You want to go that much, do you, Amelia Pond?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip softly, watching him carefully. He felt her trying to listen, trying to learn to focus on him through the bond.

_Clever little Pond. You and I are going to have to sit down and talk about a few things related to that, soon..._

"Okay, then. Let's go."

"Really?" She started to grin, bouncing on the couch in excitement. "I'm going to get to meet real elves?"

He felt a corresponding grin stretch his mouth. "Going to be impossible to live with, aren't you? Yes. Sure. Let's go see the wonders of Rishell. What could possibly go wrong?"

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**Hark! There was a bit of plot here. Who knew? There will be more of the things you were promised previously in the next couple of installments. This was transitional. They _will_ talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and king...just not quite yet in this chapter... As always, your comments are welcome.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Okay, so I've seen the season finale, and I have the following responses: 1) I like River Song much, much more that I used to. 2) I SO saw some of that coming (won't do SPOILERS here, though) 3) Despite developments in the "real world" of DW, I remain steadfast in the storyline I have going here. Those of you who've seen the finale know exactly what I mean. Those of you who haven't...what the heck are you reading this for? Go get it. Now. That is what God made streaming video for, isn't it?**

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Dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask. ~X-Files

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives. ~William Dement

All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. ~Elias Canetti

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I.

They were rummaging around in the TARDIS's copious kitchen stores when she found it.

"I don't believe it!" She held up the tin, looked at it in amazement, turned it over in her hands rapidly. "I haven't had this...in...forever. Not since I was a little girl." She narrowed her eyes, looked at the cupboard she'd found it in suspiciously. "This wasn't here yesterday when I was getting stuff for breakfast. I know it wasn't."

The Doctor glanced away from his own foraging absently. "Wasn't it? Hmm..."

"Doctor."

He put down the jar of strawberry preserves that he'd been contemplating and gave her his full attention.

"Yes, Pond? Now what is it?"

"_This_. This was not in here before. This could _not_ have been here before, because, as I recall, they stopped making it _years ago_..."

"And?"

"And? And, well, how is it that it's here now?"

"I'm sorry. _How_ long have you been rattling about here in the big blue box now?"

"That's not an answer."

"Isn't it?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He was, as usual, completely unfazed.

"Okay. Okay, Pond. Haven't you noticed yet that the TARDIS sort of just...provides...things as needed?"

Amelia thought about the perfectly-fitting green swimsuit she'd been able to lay her hands on the day of that fateful swim, the clothing she'd just happened to find that fit her in a forgotten closet, the fact that the library had a whole shelf of her favorite author that she'd come across tucked away in a corner... It had all seemed like happy coincidence at the time, or at least nothing quite as overt as this.

"Yeah, she's usually a bit more subtle about things than this, granted, but I suppose this is just her way of...oh, I don't know...welcoming you into the family?" He smirked as he said it, his hand unconsciously coming up to rest lightly against the kitchen wall.

Amy looked down at the tin again, and thought about it for a moment. She seemed to be turning something over very seriously in her mind even as she was turning the small colorful tin over and over in her hands. She didn't see the Doctor's expression change, grow focused and intense as if he were concentrating on something, didn't see him tense slightly as he watched her. Then she smiled and shrugged and turned away toward the sink. He shook his head slightly, posture relaxing, a slight wariness remaining.

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "Well, if it comes with gifts, it can't possibly be a bad thing, right?"

II.

They sat eating and talking.

"So has she always gotten childhood and hometown favorites for everyone you've ever traveled with?"

"Everyone?" He had to stop and think about it. There had been so many... Good grief. How was he to remember what they took with their tea? He sorted through the memories, careful as always, because the vast majority of them were sharp-edged like broken glass, cutting him by accident just with the handling. He looked down at his own teacup, lifted it, lightly swirling the brown liquid inside gently, unable to stop the mixture of fondness and sadness that swelled inside him as he remembered all those beautiful souls who had stood beside him. All those who were now gone, many of them forever...

"No," he said softly. "No, she doesn't do it for everyone. She only seems to put the effort out for the ones she really likes. I remember..." He paused, took a sip of tea, was silent for a long time.

Amy held her breath. She barely dared to move. He never spoke of his past except in the vaguest of terms. Would he do so now? A minute slipped by, two...

His voice came again, somewhat grudgingly, as if he would rather not say it. "I remember, for example, she never really came to care for Leela. I suspect that was rather mutual, for of course, even though she tolerated the TARDIS as sort of a necessary evil, Leela would have considered anything she offered her very much 'Tesh' as she called it, and therefore untrustworthy." He smiled at a memory of the fierce young woman with a yo-yo standing in the control room trying to keep the magic blue box going... "Ah, Leela. Always running about with those nasty Janis thorns and that knife." He eyed Amelia. "She was a ginger, too, you know..."

Amy grinned. "Really? So, what? You've just been wandering around the universe collecting redheads?"

"Ah, well. Yes and no, Pond. Yes and no. There have been a couple of others, though." She heard the names _Mel _and _Romana_ float to her as he spoke, but she let them pass. If he wanted to tell her those stories, he would... "Were bound to be at least a few of you lot around, I suppose, in 907 years..." His eyes grew distant as his mind wandered back down those long corridors of memory, and she saw that sadness growing again there. Some of that, she'd seen in the small flashes of him she'd shared during the bonding, more than enough to know why he carried such sorrow inside. Someday, maybe he would share the rest. For now, though, it was time to turn the conversation, if she could...

"What about you, then? Does the TARDIS carry your favorites, too? Stock in Time Lord treats for you?"

His eyes snapped to hers, and a painful smile crossed his lips. He paused before answering, shifting the cup in his hands.

"Ah. Again. That's a question requiring another yes and no answer, isn't it?. Yes, she does try to keep things I like available. She's a bit of a mother hen, really. Sometimes I will completely forget about food altogether if I get wrapped up in something, and she's always been a dear about sort of ...prompting me. At least, when she's not irritated with something I've done or not done, anyway. When she's not happy with the state of repairs and maintenance, I have the very devil of a time finding even a stale crust of bread, sometimes..." He shot a disgruntled look over at the innocuous seeming cupboards of the cheerful blue-and-white kitchen, seemed distracted...

Amy recognized this for what it was, a diversion. He did not want to pursue the "no" answer. He wanted to be allowed to let it slide away into darkness and oblivion. She could feel the stress coming from him, could see it in the fingers that were nervously fidgeting with the edge of the table.

_But this is important. This is something I need to know, I think..._

"And the no?"

He sighed. "The no. Well, as to the no, I would have to say that she doesn't stock in my childhood and hometown favorites the way she has done for my companions because..." He stopped again.

"Because?" She asked it gently.

When he spoke again, his voice was low and filled with despair. "Because she can't, Amy. Because there's no place for her to pull it from. And she would if she could, believe me. Because not only am I the last of my kind, the last of the Time Lords, but because my home, my whole world is gone from time, from forever." His fingers had gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "And, of course, it's gone because of me, isn't it? Because I destroyed them all, sent them all screaming into oblivion. Twice, actually. Although, I suppose it could be argued that the final time, I had a bit of help..."

Unable to bear the pain she felt from him she pulled her chair beside his, putting her hand over his, seeking to give him some comfort by physical touch. He started at the touch, almost as if he had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room, and he looked down at her hand on his for a moment as if he had never seen anything like it before. Then, with effort, he let go of the table's edge, turned his hand over, and linked his fingers with hers tightly. She did not move to embrace him. She knew instinctively that he would shatter.

"Wish you could have seen it, Pond, back before the War began, back before..." His voice cut off suddenly, and his hand pressed hers. He was still staring down at their joined fingers.

"Tell me about it, then. Tell me about your home." _Don't think about the end. Think about...think about the beginning. Think about the middle. Tell me any part of the story you can stand, Doctor, but don't think about that other part at all..._

Her voice recalled his wounded, distant gaze to her own, and she willed him strength and love and comfort in whatever form she had within her to give for a hurt so grievous as the one he was carrying inside him. Some of him seemed to come back to her, and he ran his thumb over her knuckles. He could feel her, was appreciative. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, tried to reclaim himself from that ever-present void that yawned inside him, that silence that used to be filled with all the voices of all the minds of all the Time Lords of Gallifrey...

"You've actually seen...Gallifrey" _Hard to say it. So hard to say it, still. Would that ever ease?_ "...once. Well, sort of."

She looked at him in confusion. "What? When? You said that..."

He smiled ever so slightly, the ghost of his usual grin when he presented her with an impossible tangle to sort out.

"Well, okay, it wasn't a physical destination, but I was there in the only way I ever can be again, and you just happened along in that impossible way of yours..."

Understanding dawned. "It was the place, wasn't it? With the red grass and the silver tree? Where we..? Where you...? The first time that...?"

For the first time in too long for a man who was constantly moving, constantly full of humor even when it was inappropriate, he smiled. "Back to those tantalizingly unfinished sentences are we, Pond?"

She colored a little, tossed her hair, determined not to think about _that_ right now. "So it was a real place, then?"

"Yes. It was my dream of...home. That field was near where I grew up, actually. It was a special place for me, a bit of a refuge, I guess. When I dream of ...what was...when I dream well of it, that is, as opposed to the more-common nightmares, I frequently go there, especially if I am tired or sad or in need of some peace to recharge myself somewhat."

"It was beautiful," she said softly.

He squeezed her hand. "Yes. It was. There was never any place like it. I suppose everybody feels that way about home, but I've been everywhere, Pond, and I've never seen anywhere as lovely as that old planet when she was at her best." He paused a moment, looked at her seriously. "I am happy you got to see it with me, even if it was only in that way, only inside one of my dreams." He reached out with the fingers of his free hand and traced them over her cheek softly.

She smiled at him, turned her face into his hand, kissed it lightly. Then a thought occurred. She looked at him curiously. "So...if it was _your_ dream..."

"Yes?"

"How did I wind up in it? I've certainly never been to Gallifrey. How could I dream of a place I've never been to?"

"The bond, Amelia. It was the beginning of the bond. We were sleeping side-by-side, so we had physical contact working for us, and also there was definitely the groundwork already there for a bond in place from our previous...um...encounter. The thing is, I had largely choked off that tenuous connection between us with my mind when Rory appeared. I think you probably felt that."

She nodded.

"However, _you_ are nothing if not tenacious. Somehow, you used what was left to track me down in the Armory. I suspect the TARDIS of collusion in that little endeavor." He glanced at the ceiling briefly. "But when you were lurking about in the darkness and I stopped focusing on the fencing, I realized I could feel you in there. It was much stronger than it should have been given that I had shielded that bond, left it tied neatly off, as I thought, to wither and die. When you came looking for me, somehow you sort of shoved the connection between us back open. That's how I knew you were having nightmares, too. It came to me through that re-opened connection."

She stared at him. "I _what_? How could I even do that? I don't know how to do that!"

He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. "I don't know, impossible Pond. I don't know. I have a couple of theories, but right now, I don't care to speculate. You are..." He waved his free hand around vaguely. "...stronger than you know. You are...a mystery wrapped in an enigma. You are...a veritable army of cliches, apparently." He stood up, tugged her lightly to her feet. "Which is, of course, why I choose to keep you around. Come on. I think we need to go get cleaned up. Unless I'm wrong, which, as you know I almost never am..."

Amy snorted loudly.

"...we will be arriving on Rishell fairly soon. We can talk about this other stuff later. I have a few theories that I'd like to explore with you, but it's not an urgent thing."

They walked down the hall still holding hands, swinging them back and forth lightly. As they reached the door to her room, Amy turned and looked up at the Doctor.

"Doctor, this thing I have...this ability or whatever. It's not something I need to be worried about, is it?"

The Doctor tilted his head and gazed down at her for a moment, thinking about the stillness in her head, those moments when her mind went absolutely quiet for him...

"No, no, Pond. Nothing at all to worry about. I'm sure everything will be fine...just fine."

III.

Amy came into the control room just as the Doctor was finalizing the landing. She watched him dance around the console twisting knobs, flipping switches, and she felt the joy in him. It was such a contrast to the bottomless sorrow he'd been immersed in only an hour or so ago.

_He didn't tell me all of it yet. There is more. But that's okay. He told me as much as he was able. He told me something. For the very first time. _

She was aware of the weight of that, the value of that, of how much it had cost him to do it. She wanted there to be a time for the two of them to go back to that quiet place of incarnadine grass and listen to the wind sing in the silver leaves again. She would sit with him and let him tell her stories of when he was young. As he frolicked in front of her, she tried to picture what a young Doctor at play might have looked like.

_I'm guessing except for the physical, not too much different..._

He released the monitor, turned around, and saw her, eyes alight with happiness.

"Ms. Pond, your own personal magic kingdom is right outside those doors, complete with Rishellians of the High Empire, who, I beg you, please remember, not to call elves, Amy, castles with walls of silver and gold, and monsters of myth and legend." He flipped one last switch, turned and stood with his elbow crooked for her to slip her arm through. "Ah-ha! Yeah! Shall we go and see what sort of trouble we can find to get ourselves into today?"

_He can't resist the adventure, the lure of what might be, the call of the new experience. Even though he was reluctant before to come here, now that we **are** here, he's just as excited as I am..._

She took a skipping step down to where he stood near the console, grinning just as widely as he. "Oh, let's, Doctor. Let's."

She slipped her arm through his, and they raced for the doors of the TARDIS.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Your reviews do so keep me writing. There has been so much curiosity about what's going to happen here on Rishell. I hope it lives up to all the hype and expectation. Thank you for taking the time to give me such rich feedback. It's like having a conversation with you through these chapters, and I love the exchange.  
**

**It's raining here now, and I'm watching the hummingbirds squabble over the feeder just outside my living room window. I have a collection of early music from Naxos running on iTunes. I think it's time to write Rishell...

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It's easy to believe in magic when you're young. Anything you couldn't explain was magic then. It didn't matter if it was science or a fairy tale. Electricity and elves were both infinitely mysterious and equally possible - elves probably more so.

~Charles de Lint

Any man can lose his hat in a fairy-wind. ~Irish Saying

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I.

He'd landed the TARDIS in a clearing in a forest of towering trees. They were so old and so tall that the sunlight could only pierce through their upper branches with effort, and even then, everything was green-tinted. Only here and there did it dapple the ground in bright golden spots where there was an opening in the canopy above.

Amy's hand slipped out of the Doctor's as she walked slowly around the grassy clearing and took it all in. It seemed that the whole of the place somehow..._resonated_...slightly. She realized with a start that what she was hearing was coming from the trees themselves, that they sang of age and majesty and peace, of the joy of growing and reaching for stars and infinity, of the security of clinging deep to the secret heart of the earth. She turned back to the Doctor with her mouth slightly open.

"Wow."

"Yeah. I know. And that's just the plant life. Most of Rishell is just a bit psychically active, some bits far more than others."

"Yeah, but still Doctor, singing _trees_..."

He grinned. "Fantastic, isn't it?"

She grinned back. "Absolutely."

She slipped her hand back in his.

II.

They had found a path and were walking in a direction the Doctor promised would bring them to a settlement talking about nothing important when she saw them for the first time. She pulled up short, tugging the Doctor's hand. In front of her just at the top of the next small hill on horses so fine they looked like carvings instead of real animals sat a party of seven figures, totally motionless. Had one of the horses not flicked its tail, Amy might have taken them for some statues dressed in rich garments and left here for unknown reasons. They seemed to be waiting on something.

The riders themselves were as carved down and sculptured as the horses they rode. Their cheekbones were high and sharp, their faces tapering, giving them a catlike quality enhanced by their large, slightly tilted eyes. The group of seven she was seeing seemed to be universally male, but they all wore their hair long, pulled up into a topknot from the front that cascaded down to mix with the remainder over their shoulders. Their coloration varied. Some of them were as pale as she while others were tawny. Their hair was golden, black, or brown. Their eyes varied, too. Her quick glance showed her green, blue, an odd color like honey. The one thing they all had exactly in common was the sharply pointed ears that their pulled-back hair displayed. They were beautiful in an utterly alien way.

"Doctor...are they..." She was whispering.

"Yes. The locals. Looks like somebody noticed we were here and sent out the welcome wagon. Well, how kind!" He was not.

She noticed for the first time that with the seven riders were two spare horses.

"What should we do? Should we run and hide?"

"What? And miss your el...I mean the famed High Lords of Rishell? No, Pond. Let's go say hello. Since they're waiting for us, I think running away might irritate them. And I always think it's poor form to irritate one's hosts. At least at first. Usually. Especially those who have hunting lances."

Amy looked back at the seven riders again with new eyes. She looked at their equipment more carefully. Each rider did indeed have a long wickedly pointed metal spear slung casually on their horses. She had no illusions about the speed with which that deadly weapon could undoubtedly be put into play. The High Lords continued to sit at that slight distance with completely unruffled expressions, but she thought she saw the corner of the mouth of the rider with the long black hair turn up slightly. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly and considered her with eyes like old silver coins. Even from this range, something about it made her shiver. She looked back at him, raised her chin, narrowed her own eyes. Again, she saw just the slightest quirk of that mouth. His horse, black like his hair, stamped the ground exactly once. Nothing else moved.

The Doctor had started walking down the path to meet the riders. He realized that she wasn't with him and turned around.

"Do come on, Amy. What are you standing around staring at them for? Don't you want to meet them?"

Amy muttered under her breath. "Well, now, that's the question, isn't it?" But she hastened after the Doctor.

III.

The Rishellian on the black horse bowed formally when the Doctor and Amy finally reached the crest of the small hill.

"My Lord Doctor. The Empress our Mother has dispatched me to welcome you back to Rishell. I am Irial, Lord of Raven House and Keeper of the Watch."

The Doctor smiled, looked Irial up and down briefly, measuringly. "So it's you we have to thank, then, for the welcome committee. So _nice_ of you to come out to meet us like this. Saved us a hell of a walk, I believe."

Again, that tiny little flutter of something at Irial's lips. "Indeed. The distance from the Great Forest to the Citadel of the Moon is more than the Empress felt you would make comfortably on foot, especially once she knew you had a companion. And, of course, she knew you would be most distressed if you could not make it to the Citadel by nightfall to make your presence known as the law...and courtesy...require..."

The Doctor sighed. "Oh yes. Quite. Quite. So. I guess it's time to saddle up then..." He climbed onto the shimmering white horse that was led forward for him. Amy got on the dappled grey that was led to her with a little boost from the golden-haired Rishellian who'd been holding the horse for her. As she got settled on the horse, Amy felt discomfiture rolling through the bond. He did not want to go to this Citadel of the Moon. _Why?_

_*Tell you later, Pond. But do me a favor? Just this once? Please don't wander off. This is the one part of Rishell tour I was actually hoping to avoid...*_

IV.

The Doctor was talking with Irial. The two of them were at the front of the riding party. One scout rode far ahead. Amy rode behind the Doctor and Irial. The other Rishellians rode behind her in complete silence except for the soft sounds their horses hooves made on the trail. It was a little unnerving. Amy stole glances at them from time to time. Several times, her eyes met wide Rishellian ones watching her, and after that, she focused her attention on what the Doctor and Irial were saying.

"...so you are Lord of Raven House, eh, Irial? There wasn't one last time I was here..."

"Yes. But that was a very long time ago, Doctor. There has been a Raven Lord for several cycles now. The last two Empresses have had a Raven Lord to guide them."

"Really? Then the learning _was_ rediscovered."

"With time and great effort, the Raven House was rebuilt, the learning was renewed, those who were adept were brought and trained, and we were able to offer guidance to our Mother once again. It was not done without great sacrifice, Doctor, but then, as I am sure you know, nothing that is worth doing ever is..."

"Oh, indeed, indeed. Only, last time I was here, I was given to understand that the Imperial family, the Empress included, had turned against the Raven Lord. I thought there had been a decree of some kind, even, destroying the position, declaring the House abolished..."

Irial laughed. "Yes. You're right. I forget that your last visit with us was in such a troubled time. Fortunately, time, as it passes, can heal a great many wounds, and give those who have no legitimate reason to quarrel the chance to see the error of their ways. Have you not found this to be true, Time Lord?"

The Doctor's response was to smile slightly and bow. Inside, he was thinking, _No, not really. What really happens is that it gives all parties involved a chance to get all their weapons good and sharp and all their forces into place before striking the final blows..._

V.

The path eventually led to a wide, broad, stone-paved road. The horses began to show signs of excitement as they stepped out onto it. The Rishellian riders softly spoke words Amy could not understand to the horses, smoothing long-fingered elegant hands over their mounts to soothe them.

"Have you traveled on Rishellian Chargers before, Doctor?"

"No. I was only here for a short visit last time. I heard much of them, but I had no cause to journey out of the Citadel."

Irial smiled. "They have no equal for speed or stamina. They live to drink the wind and to conquer it. These roads are built specifically for them, specifically for the horses of the High Lords. The lesser traffic uses other ways. We shall be at the Citadel in an hour now that we have reached the way and we can give the chargers their heads."

He glanced back at Amy briefly. It was the first time he had even acknowledged her presence since he had looked at her as she and the Doctor had walked toward the riders on the hilltop. "Your companion. She _does _ride, does she not? She will be able to stay in the saddle?" His gloved hand unfurled toward her in a casual, infuriatingly dismissive gesture.

Amy glared at him. _Oi, elf-boy. Am not a sidekick. Am not a servant. Don't know what you're thinking, but it's time to shift __**that**__... _"Yes. Actually, _she_ does. Quite _well_, in fact."

Irial turned his head slightly and again considered her with that measuring, disconcerting silver gaze from under long dark lashes. She tossed her hair, gave him her very best go-to-hell glare. He looked at her more fully, studied her more carefully, his now-amused eyes connecting with her own. He grinned, almost as if he could hear her angry thoughts, and then he turned back to the Doctor.

The Doctor's hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the reins of his horse, and in the back of her mind, Amy heard something like a very low growl.

"In that case, the Citadel of the Moon awaits."

He made a slight clicking noise with his tongue, and Amy had no time to consider handsome arrogant elves or jealous Time Lords. The world was falling away from her as the horse beneath her became the embodiment of speed.

VI.

When they'd arrived , even though the ride had gone quickly, it was dark. Amy wasn't able to see very much of the building into which she was being led except to get a sense of the massiveness of it. Irial had not even consulted the Doctor about the rooming arrangements. He told them that they would have several hours to refresh themselves before the court assembled for the ball being held by the Empress in their honor and then had simply had them shown upstairs to two rooms next to each other. Two servants, one male, one female, had led Amy and the Doctor through the impressive halls of the castle past exquisite sculpture and paintings. Amy had looked at the Doctor with a questioning expression, but he'd disappeared into his as happy as a lark, as usual, wittering on about the architectural details. She'd gone inside hers with a tiny shrug.

_Guess we're not sharing a room on this trip, then. I never thought about that. I guess I just assumed we'd be together from now on. I don't know why I didn't realize that he wouldn't want... I mean, I guess there's some reason I didn't think of... Probably, he doesn't want anyone to know about..._

Before her feelings could spiral downward any further, there was a knock on something wooden-sounding behind a large colorful tapestry draped along the wall that separated their two rooms. Frowning, she looked for the edge of the tapestry a moment, and, after flailing there a minute to find it and get under it, she found a large wooden sliding door with an enormous metal bolt holding it shut. The knock sounded again. She grinned.

"Who is it?" she singsonged.

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in," he chanted back at her.

"Ha! With you calling me that? I don't think so. Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin." She leaned against the door and waited to see what he would do next.

She heard the distinctive buzz of the sonic screwdriver, and watched the bolt slide neatly back. She stepped away from the door just as he slid it open. He was pocketing the sonic and the two of them were in a neat little dimly-lit cave formed by the tapestries hanging over the door on both their respective walls. His lips curved ever-so-slightly. In his eyes was a dangerous light. She knew that light, welcomed it.

"Adjoining rooms. Rishellian protocol. Their way of smoothing over awkwardness. They don't know what our status is and would rather die than ask and potentially offend, so with these doors, we can decide for ourselves. Anyone not a Rishellian declared bondpair would be given them." He stepped toward her. "But you...Not going to open the door, eh? Going to make me work for it, are you, Pond? Okay, then..." He stalked her in a tiny little circle, and she felt the wide door frame press into her back. He bracketed her on both sides with his arms, pinning her in. "In that case, I reckon I'll have to huff..." and he leaned down and brushed his lips teasingly, tastingly across hers. "...and puff..." and he did it again, sliding his hands down her body to her waist, pulling her against him. "...and blow your house in..." and he took her mouth hard, lifting her slightly to carry her out of the little tapestry-cave and toward the huge bed in his room.

VII.

Her clothing and his made a scattered trail leading back to the tapestry. It had been explosive and immediate. The want had consumed them so fast that she hadn't been sure they were even going to make it back to the bed. Now she lay with her head on his shoulder listening to the soothing sound of his dual heartbeat slowing back down. His fingers tangled in her hair, combing through it again and again slowly, making sure to brush her temples deliberately. She shivered.

"You'll want to stop that, unless..." She stopped turned her face against his skin.

"Unless?" She couldn't see him, but she heard the smile in his voice. "Come on. Unless? Is this the moment Pond finishes a sentence?" He stroked her hair again, danced the tip of his index finger delicately over her temple as he did.

"Unless, oh, I don't know..." She opened her mouth on a whim and licked him lightly on the neck just where he always seemed unerringly to fixate on her at some point during their lovemaking.

His response was immediate. A strangled gasp spilled from his lips, and he jerked as though he'd been hit with an electric charge.

She pulled back and looked at him with huge eyes. "Doctor?" She touched him gently. "Are you okay? Did I...?"

He grabbed her by the back of the head, pulled her back down to him for a hard kiss. Then he pulled away, rolled his head slightly sideways and looked at her with those slightly pleading summer green eyes. "Again?" There was a note of desperation in his voice.

She realized that his body, pressed to hers, was hard as a rock, ready for sex despite what had happened between them not even thirty minutes before. What she knew about what he wanted raced through her mind as a set of fragmented impressions...

_He does this and he feels...**Mine**...it's a kiss of possession. It means something special for him..._

He shifted under her, his hands caressing up and down her back. She could feel the desire in him for this blazing white hot as she turned it over in her mind.

_It's how he marks his mate...and he wants me to mark him?...wants me to say he's mine?..._

She remembered his reaction to her sending that word through the bond the night they'd spent in the reading room, and she looked down at him, a hunger of her own kindled.

_And he is...Mine. Beautiful Mine. _She concentrated on letting him hear that. His eyes closed, his hands tugged lightly. She shifted, rising above him, straddling him, slowly taking him in. His hips arched for her, his eyes opening to watch. When he was completely buried inside her, she leaned down over him for a kiss. He met her with a desperation and a hunger that fed her own need, and she let her hips begin to find their own rhythm. She broke the contact of their mouths, pressed her lips to his eyelids, then to his temples, felt his hips buck under hers, heard him speaking in his own language, those words that would not translate... She began to kiss her way down his neck, tiny fluttering butterfly touches of her lips only, and his hands clutched at her, his hips rocking beneath her.

She could feel the crest of the wave coming, and she reached up and placed her hand very deliberately on his temple. He shuddered against her, gritting his teeth, his head tossing.

_Mine. You are...Mine. _She gently kissed him where he longed for her touch, just there at the joining of neck and shoulder, just there where he always kissed her. He cried out, body arching.

_And just as you lay claim to me, so I now claim you. **Mate. Mine.** _And she opened her mouth, using teeth and tongue to nip, to lave that sensitive place. His body was in climax just that fast as pleasure overwhelmed him, body and mind.

VIII.

"Oh, you're soooo not wearing that tonight. You can go right back in there and change."

"What? What are you on about? This is what they gave me! This, apparently, is what I'm supposed to wear!"

"No. No, it won't do, Amelia."

"Look. I can't wear jeans and a jumper to meet an elf Empress, and anyway, since when do you care _what_ I wear?"

_*Don't call them elves, and you know since when.*_

"Doctor..."

"Did you even look in a mirror?"

"Well...yes...I had to in order to figure out how to get the bloody thing on until the the maid came in and helped me out. Oh, and she did my hair, too. Don't you like it?"

He made a gesture. "Like it? Like it? Amelia?" He grabbed her wrist and dragged her back into her room. She fought the whole way, but it was futile. When he got like this, it was like fighting a steam locomotive...

She shook off his hand as he put her in front of the huge mirror in her room. It took up half of one of the walls. He crossed his arms and waited.

She looked in the mirror, deliberately pretended not to see what he didn't like, and looked up at him in fake confusion.

"Again, I'm forced to ask, 'What?'"

He stood behind her, placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. There was no fabric between his hands and her skin. The sheer emerald green fabric draped like gossamer around her, and the gown fit her like a dream, but it was a bit décolleté... She'd also realized with something of a start that the very dark green undergarment, something a little like an old-fashioned corset, could be seen through the upper half of the gown and was intended to be so. That was why it was so ornate, she supposed. That had come as a bit of a surprise, too.

"Yes. You've got on a very dressy _corset _that _everybody_ is supposed to see. Hmm. Why wouldn't I want you running around in that?"

"This isn't like you. You're never prudish about things. And if everybody else is wearing these, then I won't stand out at all, will I?" She turned and patted him on the cheek lightly.

He sighed as he watched her tuck a stray strand of hair back into the elaborate hairdo the maid had created for her tonight and as she fiddled with the wide green ribbon choker she wore around her neck, something her maid had devised to hide the mark he'd made on her earlier that evening as they "rested" before meeting the Empress at the ball tonight.

"Pond, you couldn't hide if you were trying and had an army full of gingers to help you out..."

He shook his head. "Alright then. Look. Just promise me three small things."

"Okay."

"One: please avoid the pale golden liquid you may be offered tonight. It is extremely strong. I don't know, in fact, that humans have ever tried it. It is called Lunacy, and, well, I know from personal experience that it lives up to its name."

She cocked her head sideways and looked at him. "Reeeaaally? That's a story I will have to hear..."

He rolled his eyes. "Later. Later. We're going to be late downstairs as it is..."

"Yeah, yeah. What's number two, then, Mr. Grumpy Pants?"

"Number Two: I want you to faithfully, truly, deeply promise me to be on your best behavior tonight, Pond, in that dress and with matters of protocol."

She bristled, fist balling.

"You've no idea how devastating you are."

She frowned, foot tapping.

"I mean that I want you to make sure that you watch out for the Rishellians. You're not a Rishellian lady, and some of them won't know whether to classify you "high" or "low," and may therefore make inappropriate comments or advances. Some of the High Lords think themselves...entitled. The Rishellians have a complex social system that is arcane and twisted and takes years of study to understand. Once false move, one insult given can wreck relations for centuries. That's why I have been so cautious about telling you not to call them elves, Amelia. They hate that."

She looked at him and nodded, some of the irritation leaving her face. He continued.

"And finally, I want you to make sure that if any of those damned elves so much as lay a finger on you that you break it clean off right before you bloody their noses for them. Can you do that for me, Pond?"

She grinned, leaned up and kissed him. "Of course."

He clapped his hands together. "Good. Great. Molto-bene. Shall we go down then?"


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Oh, the places I want to take this story. I have all sorts of plot-twistiness in store. I hope you're ready to stick with me on this one, folks. I'm just having so much fun writing this. Mwhahahaha...**

**One word about the Doctor dancing. It's been done, redone, and done again, and that's just in the New Series. We've seen Rose try to tempt Nine. It was alluded to with Ten in the GitF episode. Of course, the season finale revived it in its own, thoroughly unique fashion with Eleven. I think that if he's been around 907 years, he can dance if he wants to, however he wants to...

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The fairytale is irresponsible; it is frankly imaginary, and its purpose is to gratify wishes, as a dream doth flatter. -Susanne K. Langer

Don't ask questions of fairy tales. ~ Jewish Folk Saying

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I.

They descended a different set of stairs than the ones Irial had brought them into the Citadel by. This wide spiraling grand staircase was intended to be taken slowly, was intended to impress. It did its job well. Before, Irial had been hurrying them so they could get to their quarters, had taken them through some back way. Now, though, Amy had a chance to really look around her.

There were no lamps or torches anywhere, but the very pale stone walls themselves seemed to glow softly with their own inner light somehow. Where more light was needed, here and there, fanciful sculptures had been carved holding out large globes or elaborate objects that shone more brightly than the rest. At the foot of the great staircase two enormous figures illuminated the entire area. One was dressed as a jester or clown who was bowing, his masked face staring down, his extended hand holding a juggling ball that glowed brightly enough to drive out the darkness from the lower stairs and create odd and disquieting shadows across the jester's face above. The jester's mask was not comical. It seemed to represent a painted face as one might expect, but one half of the face was intended to be one color; the other half was intended to be the other, and almost Egyptian décor around the eyes was the only relief from that stark scheme. The hand behind its back, most disturbingly, held a long curved dagger.

_I wouldn't laugh at that one. He wouldn't tell jokes. Any dances or tricks that one did would be ones you'd have to watch out for..._ Amy shivered.

The other stone figure also seemed masked, a duelist poised on one foot as if caught in midstrike with a slender sword held above his head in what looked like a particular fighting pose. Its cape billowed out like great wings to either side, and the muscles of its arms and legs where they emerged from the stone folds of its robes were straining with the effort of its strike. The mask it wore was terrifying. Its face was a completely smooth curve. It had a warrior's topknot, incredibly detailed hair flowing down across carved armor so real she could almost hear the metal clink, but the face...it had none... His blade was the source of light, its cool brightness more than ample to ensure no one would misstep on the upper portion of the stairs.

_Just as bloody menacing. Graceful, frightening...the sort of thing I'll have nightmares about. That stupid jester will be chasing me throwing that juggler's ball and then chuckles here will be flailing about with that silly sword. _She sighed. _At least maybe I won't be sleeping alone anymore..._

"Doctor," Amy said, her voice coming out more hushed than she'd intended as they passed between the large statues. "What are these things?"

The Doctor craned his neck and looked up at them. "Impressive aren't they? The Fool and the Fighter... They've been here in the Citadel for...oh...nobody even knows how long now. They are wonders of the Old Empire. Their creation is a point of legend. They're said to represent the two opposing ways to conquer one's enemies..."

He looked down at Amy with a grim smile on his face and pointed lightly at the duelist.

"He of course represents the more commonly chosen way of force, skill, arms, battle. You know, heroism and derring-do. Letting your weapons do all the talking for you. All that tosh." They looked up at the fierce, blank-faced warrior for a moment, taking in the incredible detail of the carvings.

"Ah. But what can one say of the other, then, if you care not for the Fighter, Doctor?" A deep voice spoke from behind them, and Amy jumped. She noticed the Doctor did not. He did not even turn.

"Ah, Irial. This little tour probably should have been yours, anyway, by rights. I'm sure you know much more about them than I do. Why don't you explain the Fool to us?"

Irial stepped up on the other side of Amy. He did not look at either one of them, only up at the two towering statues shining above them. "The Fool represents the way of conquering that involves deception, distraction, illusion, deceit, sleight-of-hand, what the _credulous_ might even call magic at times. Those who know him better, though, are not usually taken in by his tricks. Even though he may seem harmless, amusing at times possibly, well..." he gestured gracefully to the wicked dagger curving up behind the jester's back.

He turned his head and skimmed his gaze lightly over Amy before fixing those sharp silver eyes on the Doctor. For a moment that Amy _felt_, felt as if someone somewhere were striking a crystal glass causing it to ring a perfect note that was then sustained beyond what was possible, what was tolerable, the two looked at one another. Then Irial smiled that tiny knowing grin again.

"The Empress our Mother is most eager to meet you, Doctor. You are something of a legend, you know."

He turned, and as he did, his gaze raked lightly over Amy again. He did not otherwise acknowledge her presence. He walked across the great hall toward a large set of open doors and disappeared inside.

Amy turned back the Doctor. He staring after Irial with a blank expression. Amy could feel nothing coming from him. His mind was as studiously closed as his face.

"Doctor?"

He shifted his attention to her, and he became animated again. "Right. Come on, then, Pond. Enough loitering about here in the antechamber. Let's go watch the elves dance, shall we?"

II.

When they entered the ballroom, Amy gasped.

"It's lovely. I mean...look..."

And it was. It really was. A sea of color filled the pale chamber as those within danced, talked, or watched each other with the measuring gazes common to every court in every world. Rishellians of every description filled the huge room. The men were tall, slender, handsome, variations on the theme of Irial. The women wore dresses much like her own, and Amelia understood for the first time why there was so little back to her dress.

Every Rishellian woman she saw had a pair of slightly iridescent wings extending from just between her shoulderblades. Some of them seemed to be larger than others and some had more color to them than others, but they all had them.

_*Sign of status, they are. The larger or more ornate those wings, the higher up the social ladder the family they come from is. You'll find that the fanciest pair in the room is going to be on the back of...*_

"Her Royal Highness, the Imperial Lady of the Seven Houses, the Moon Empress and Mother to us all, Áinfean."

Irial's voice split the air, and Amy and the Doctor turned to face it along with everyone else. He stood to one side of a raised dais at the far end of the long room. Two uniformed guards bowed as if hearing an unspoken command and then opened a door that opened onto the center of the small platform in perfect unison. As the doors opened, a sigh from the crowd went up.

The doors had opened to reveal a petite but lush form wrapped but by no means much obscured in sheer white attire. She stepped out, and her wings, opalescent and reflecting flashes of blue, red, and silver, became visible. She carried them upright and open on her back like a butterfly's as she crossed the platform toward her throne. She surveyed the room with eyes the color of newly minted silver coins, her raven black hair swept off her face into a hairstyle that was at once simple and very difficult to achieve. Áinfean was exquisite. The beauty of the Rishellians, their high cheekbones, their wide eyes, and their sculptured features seemed to have been refined to its highest art in her.

With her appearance, the ranks of Rishellians had sunk into deep bows or curtsies. The music had stopped and complete silence had settled on the great hall. The Doctor remained as he was, and Amy, worriedly, had followed his lead.

_*It's okay, Pond. She's not **our** queen, right? Trust me, she won't expect it from us.* _

As Áinfean sat, she studied the two of them. Amy saw something like amusement in her eyes. Áinfean looked at Irial and something passed wordlessly between them. Then she raised the fingers of her hand slightly. With that tiniest of gestures, the Rishellians around Amy and the Doctor raised themselves and resumed whatever entertainments they had been pursuing previously.

Moments later, a servant appeared at the Doctor's elbow with a note on a silvery tray. He plucked it off and scanned it.

"What does it say, then?"

His lips quirked, but Amy sensed something other than amusement behind his facade. "Apparently, Her Majesty would like to meet us. Right now. How about it? Feel like meeting the Faerie Queen?"

III.

They followed the servant toward the dais. The crowd parted like a sea of silk around them, the Rishellians murmuring as they passed. Amy could feel their regard pressing on her like delicate feathery touches as she and the Doctor slid through them.

Suddenly they stood in front of the carved stone throne. Amy realized that Áinfean was even more beautiful up close. Irial stood just behind the low back of the throne, his hand resting lightly on the curving, scrolling carvings along the back, and as Amy looked from one to the other, she was struck by how much the resembled each other.

Áinfean rose, extended her hand. "So you are the Doctor. Be welcome to the Citadel of the Moon."

The Doctor took her hand, bowed over it in a curiously courtly gesture that surprised Amy. "I thank you, Highness, for your hospitality."

Her eyes sparkled. "Not at all. It is we who are honored by your visit. You, sir, are a figure of legend for us. And I think you of all people can appreciate the irony of that.." Her laughter was a music of its own.

The Doctor smiled. "Well...I'm not as much as all that, I assure you." He had not released her hand.

Áinfean didn't seem to mind. She stepped a little closer to him. "No. Don't be humble. The Empress Síofra, sainted, left detailed records in the Imperial Chronicle of your last visit...particularly of the time you spent..." her silvered eyes flickered over Amy, dismissed her, "...with her privately." The Doctor's smile changed, became somehow sharp around the edges. He would have released her hand, but her fingers tightened on his ever-so-slightly. Her chin rose and her silver eyes held his with a challenge.

_Well, she's just bold as brass, isn't she? _Amy felt her infatuation with the dainty queen disappearing and the strong need to snatch the little raven-haired beauty bald-headed rising.

Behind the throne, Irial shifted minutely, just the redistribution of weight from one foot to the other, but Amy's eyes flew to him. He was watching her intently, she realized, and suddenly, she found herself wishing fervently for her jeans and jumper. Irial's eyes focused again on the Doctor and the Empress.

The Doctor reached to his side and Amy took his hand.

"Highness, may I present Ms. Amelia Pond of Earth?"

He firmly pulled his fingers from Áinfean's as he introduced Amy. The Empress turned to look at her for the first time, politeness requiring her attention. Amy didn't miss the slight spot of color on her high cheeks or the slight smile on her lips as the Doctor extricated himself from her dainty grasp.

"Amelia is my bondmate."

Áinfean's eyes grew wide and she grew very still. She looked, truly looked at Amy for the first time since they'd entered the room.

"Really," she breathed. "How...unusual. Of _Earth_? A Time Lord bonded to...a..._human_? You are _just_ a human, are you not, Ms...Pond, wasn't it?"

Amelia gritted her teeth lightly, thought of a line from one of her favorite movies. _With the rich and mighty, always a little patience..._ "Yes, Your Majesty. Human. All the way through. At least last time anybody checked, that is..."

"Well. Isn't that...charming? Irial, I do believe that you neglected to mention Ms. Pond was the Doctor's bondmate."

Irial bowed slightly. "Apologies, Majesty. I did not sense the connection, and the Doctor is known to travel with companions with whom he has no romantic ties. The bonds of the Time Lords must be of a different type than our own. There were no signs."

"Ah. Well, these things, they do happen, don't they? One grows so used to _knowing_ that..." Her eyes raked over Amy again as she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. The sharp expression in those bright silver eyes did not match the soft amusement in her tone. "Be welcome to Rishell, Ms. Pond." Áinfean bowed her graceful head ever so slightly. "Doctor." There was a deeper inclination on that lovely neck for him. "I am sure we will all be seeing much more of each other during your stay. In the meanwhile, I pray you enjoy this evening's entertainment. Irial, shall we go make the necessary rounds?" She reached her hand behind her without taking her gaze from the Doctor, and Irial took it. Only at the last moment did she turn away. The two of them glided away, one clad in sable, one in snow, down into the swirl of colors below.

Amy looked at the Doctor a moment. He was watching the pair of them as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them.

"Doctor," she said, a little uncertainly.

He looked at her and sighed. "Oh, Pond." He smiled, suddenly antic as he took her hands and led her down from the dais. "Let's go dance, shall we? Might as well have _some_ fun before all the wheels come off." He muttered the last bit to himself almost absently as he pulled her close.

IV.

So they danced. She'd been nervous at first because the formal style the Rishellians favored was nothing she'd ever learned or even seen done. Some forms seemed to be variations on early court dances such as she'd seen from movies about the Renaissance. They would end and then couples dances would begin. She could only think of these as "waltzes with a little something extra."

"Don't worry so much, Amy," he'd murmured in her ear. "It's all in the partner. Trust me." He'd smiled, taken her hand, and pulled her out into the whirling couples.

_He's right. It's...easy..._

She felt lighter than air as he held her, his strong hands guiding her in the turns and shifts. He danced amazingly well. All the antic disappeared when he wanted it to. His movements became as stately and graceful as any of the Rishellians twirling near her, and that strength hidden in his lean frame he used to lift her slightly as the dance demanded. When he swung her wide, she laughed, her green gossamer skirts belling out around her. The music seemed to be not only in the air, but also somehow to be inside her. It felt wonderful. It made dancing imperative.

_*Rishellian music has that effect. You have to be careful with it. It's a subtle psychic manipulation.*_

The Doctor twirled her away and then back close to him, grinned at her.

_*But, granted, as such things go, not an unpleasant one...mostly...*_

_What do you mean, mostly?_

He steered her around another couple gracefully. His thumb circled on her palm.

_*Well, you've heard of elvish pipers, haven't you? People who were made to dance by the fairies until they fell dead?*_

She looked up at him with wide eyes.

_*Every story has a seed of truth hidden in it somewhere, Amy.*_

_But how...But that's on Earth...How?_

He shrugged, turned her again.

_*Ah...there's the great question, isn't it?*_

Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder, a bare feather touch of fingertips. At exactly the same time, she heard that low growl in her mind from the Doctor. She turned, feeling the Doctor's hands come to rest possessively on her waist, pulling her lightly back against him. Irial stood there hands folded behind his back, expression impassive.

"Yes? Can we help you? Something you...wanted?" The Doctor's tone was light, cheerful. Amy felt the lie of it in her mind.

"The Empress requests the honor of a dance with you, Doctor."

His smile became frozen, his green eyes slightly cold. "Ah. Isn't that kind? Well, and I'd love to accept, but I can't just leave Pond here unattended. I'm sure you can understand..."

Irial bowed. "Of course. Such a breach in protocol would be intolerable."

The Doctor's hands loosened slightly. "So..if you'll just be good enough, then, to tell your lady.."

Irial cut him off, extending his hand to Amy with that tremendous natural grace. "That, of course, is why she has sent me to dance with the Lady Amelia until such time as you return. I am only a Raven Lord, and not one of Time, but I trust that for the brief time necessary, perhaps the substitution might be acceptable?" He tilted his head, looked at them both with that old-silver gaze, and Amy watched his lips crook slightly with that enigmatic tiny smile.

Amy felt the Doctor's hands tighten down again, heard that low growl increase.

_Is this one of those protocol issues you warned me about?_

Reluctant. Irritated. _*Yes.*_

_And if I don't dance with him and you with her, is it going to cause problems, make them angry?_

Another pause. Irritation becoming anger outright, frustration. _*Yes.*_

She put her hand lightly on top of his, squeezed gently.

_So...quit being Mr. Possessive Wolfie and go dance with the nice lady with shiny wings. _

_*Amelia..._*

_Look. Big girl here. I'll be fine. Let's not make enemies when we don't have to, okay?_

Irial was waiting, that smile still hovering on his lips. She stepped toward him, placed her hand in his, and looked him right in the eye.

"Okay, Raven Lord. Let's see what you've got."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm glad everyone is having fun and is willing to indulge me. Speculation is rife as to what's going to happen next, and I love reading your reviews where you make guesses and tell me what you've enjoyed and what your theories are. As for whether your guesses are right or not, all I'll say is...on with the show...

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When the wine goes in, strange things come out.

~Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, The Piccolomini, 1799

The truest expression of a people is in its dance and in its music. Bodies never lie.

~Agnes de Mille

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I.

Amy couldn't find any fault with Irial's dancing. He was every bit as cat-sure on his feet as the Doctor had been, guided her through the unfamiliar steps with every bit as much confidence and gentleness as the Doctor had, and Amy was trying, genuinely trying just to relax and enjoy his skill. However, it wasn't easy.

Áinfean and the Doctor made quite an enchanting sight as they spun across the dance floor. The queen in white barely reached the Doctor's shoulder, and although she maintained the discreet distance dictated by the dance, Amy could see the expression on the lovely Rishellian's face as the Doctor lifted her slightly for one of the turns. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, discreet about that smile.

_Fairy tart! What does she think she's doing? And now, with the hand? Oi! That's supposed to stay on his shoulder, dearie. Wonder what she'd do if I walked over there and pulled those bloody wings off..._

Her eyes narrowed, and her hand tightened on Irial's. His deep voice interrupted her reverie. "You must not take Áinfean so much to heart, Lady Amelia. She behaves in the way that is expected of a Rishellian lady on the dance floor."

Amy saw Áinfean's fingertips brushing lightly over the Doctor's bowtie, saw her lean into him and laugh, shake back those raven curls, and she would have headed for them, but Irial tightened his grip ever-so-slightly. "I mean that certain patterns are ingrained in her, Lady Amelia, and that if you look around you will see that her behavior with her dancing partner is tonight somewhat...circumspect...by comparison with some of the others."

For the first time, Amy looked at the behavior of the other couples who danced near them. Irial was right. The partners as they spun seemed engaged in enticing each other as much as they were keeping up with the elaborate steps. In some cases, the couples looked as though they would have been much happier in a more private location with many fewer clothes between them. Only Irial and she herself, she realized, were not dancing that _second_ dance. She looked up at him with speculation.

"So when can I expect you to start putting the moves on me?"

That small smile crossed his lips. "Ah. Lady, you wound me. So much for my inept attempts at seduction, then. I did know it had been a very long time since I had bothered with the forms of courtship, but I had not thought myself so long out of practice as this..."

She looked at him for a moment, still moving with him, unsure, and then it hit her.

"You're kidding? Oh my God. You're kidding! The Raven Lord made a joke!" She laughed in relief.

That tiny smile blossomed for the very first time into a real smile, and she realized that he had a very nice smile indeed. "Yes. That is allowed. Sometimes..." His silver eyes ran over her animated face, drinking in her happy expression.

"No, I'm sorry. That's rude, it's just that..."

"You need not worry. You will not offend me by speaking your mind, Lady Amelia. I find it refreshing, actually. There are advantages to dancing with the Raven Lord. The first, apparently, is that you don't have to worry about being groped on the dance floor tonight." He smiled again, and his thumb lightly traced over her palm. "Unless you tell me that such is your desire, milady, in which case, I shall endeavor to obey."

She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter what species you are, does it? You boys are all alike..."

He grinned. "Your phrasing is charming. And you understand that I must at least give lip service to the protocols, milady. No matter how painful I might find it." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back lightly.

Amy laughed again. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure. One of those hard jobs that somebody has to do, right?"

He bowed his head slightly. "As you say."

Amy's eyes suddenly spotted the Doctor and Áinfean over Irial's shoulder, but to her distress, they were no longer dancing. They were headed for a door on the side of the large room, Áinfean leading. They were talking animatedly, the Doctor's hands gesturing wildly as they always did when he was interested in something or in lecture mode, and then the door opened and they disappeared. He never looked back to see where she was.

_I know he didn't just leave the party with the fairy tart. I know he didn't. Okay, and if he did, I'm sure he had a good reason, right? Because, otherwise, well..._

She felt sick. Her stomach actually turned.

Irial's hands gripped her more firmly, noted the frown on her face, the storm in her eyes. "Milady, you are unwell. Shall we take some air?"

"What? Oh, yes. Let's get out of here. Please." _Anywhere that's not here. _

He kept his arms supportively, lightly around her, and they walked out toward the great open doors of the ballroom. Outside, a wide terrace with small tables and benches scattered here and there spread before them. Irial led her to a table near the edge of the terrace, and a view of the surrounding countryside bathed in pale moonlight became visible.

"Please sit. I believe you will be well in a moment. The ballroom had become quite close. It always does on these occasions." He clapped his hands twice, softly.

She looked at him curiously, and then understanding came as a servant came hurrying up carrying a tray with two small glasses and a lovely beaker of pale golden wine. Amy noticed with a start that the servant wasn't a Rishellian at all, but seemed to be some sort of cat-like creature. It studied her surreptitiously as it knelt to offer the tray to Irial, and there seemed to be something in its eyes that it wanted to say or tell her, but then Irial had the tray in his hand and he was waving the servant away. It slid back into the darkness from which it had come soundlessly. Amy turned her head to watch it go.

"That servant," she began.

"Yes?" Irial asked in a tone that indicated polite tolerance of a topic that was at best impolite. He poured two glasses of the wine the servant had left.

"He...She? That wasn't a Rishellian, was it?"

Irial smiled that tiny smile. "No. Of course not. Why would it have been? Will you take some refreshment, Lady Amelia? I think this will restore you." He held out a glass to her, took up his own.

She took it in distraction. "Yes, thanks. You mean all the servants on Rishell are _not_ Rishellian?"

"Lady Amelia, I will answer any question you have, but this is not something we discuss, really. No High Lord serves. It is unthinkable. It is _not done_. Does this matter?" He brought up his glass and held it in a salute.

She frowned slightly, remembering that the Doctor had asked her not to violate protocol. And Irial was out here trying to be nice when the Doctor was off who the hell knew where doing who knew what. _Ha...emphasis on __**doing**__...damn Fairy Queen... if I thought, even for a minute that he was really...I'd...I'd...__  
_

She looked at Irial, clinked her glass lightly against his, and forced a smile. "You know what, Irial? You're right. Just now, it does not matter. It does not matter at all." And lifted the glass to her lips, took a deep swallow.

II.

It was like...

_Drinking music, and discovering that it at last was the thing that could quench a thirst that had been burning since before she was born, each note satisfying something that ached inside. It was like all the stars had individual secret names that they'd been waiting forever to tell only to her, wanted to be her friend, came and sat down beside her, whispered in her ear the secret of shining, of dancing can-cans and tangos on the velvet that stretched above her. It was like a flock of very small birds flew inside her veins, their feathery wings brushing against each vessel in a million tingling caresses, and then they all collected in the high-ceilinged chamber of her heart, circled there, singing. She felt as though she could fly with them, wanted to join the music and the stars and the birds, wanted to sail into the moonlight that seemed to be soaking into every single cell of her being..._

And she came back to herself gasping, grasping for something, anything, realizing that she was blind, fear consuming her. She felt hard stone underneath her.

"Doctor?" She called out for him. "Where am I?"

"Lady Amelia," said a soothing familiar voice, "you're fine." She felt fingertips gently resting against her neck. "Your pulse seems to be calming somewhat. Good. That should mean that the worst of the effects are passing." Irial.

"Why can't I see then? I can't...I can't..." She grabbed at him.

She felt Irial's hands gently cup her face. "I believe, milady, that you are squeezing your eyes closed. It is an involuntary muscle response, a spasm like the others that seized you when you took the wine." She felt his thumbs softly stroke over her eyelids. A very mild warmth seemed to radiate from his touch, and suddenly she could open her eyes again. She looked up into concerned sterling silver eyes studying her carefully.

"Lady? Are you well?"

"You just saw me collapse after a sip of wine and then think myself blind because my eyes were shut. I think you can officially drop the 'lady' bit, now Irial."

His lips crooked. "As you like, but how do you feel? The wine affected you so strongly."

She sat up slowly holding on to his arm and with his assistance, and she moved to lean against the low wall that was the edge of the terrace that was just behind her. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten here... "You're telling me? What's that stuff made of?"

Irial shrugged. "It is the festival drink of Rishell. We make it of one of the native fruits, a small melon. It has a very long formal name, but mostly the wine is called Lunacy."

_Bloody hell. Of course. So worried about him running off with the winged tart that I forgot to watch out for the dangerous libations. Another reason to rip him a new one..._

"I don't think it agrees with me, do you?"

Irial sat down beside her. "You may be right, Lady Amelia."

"Please. Amy. Just call me Amy."

"Amy, then." He seemed to savor that. "And I do think you should avoid the wine. I mention this not to embarrass you, milady, but just so you know the seriousness of it...you were trying to fly off the terrace railings..."

_Aaaand all the little pieces click right into place. Oh great. Just fantastic. At least the Doctor wasn't around to watch that. I'd never live it down..._

"I was forced to restrain you."

_More joy. This just keeps getting better and better and better..._

"I've never seen it affect anybody as strongly as it affected you."

"Ah, well. _Just_ a human, you see. I guess we don't have the tolerance to it that Rishellians do." She laughed a rueful little light.

Irial took her hand in his and brought it to his lips lightly, a courtly gesture. He opened his mouth in response, but whatever he would have said was lost as the Doctor came running frantically out the great double doors of the ballroom, looking frantically from side-to-side, and his eyes fixed on the two of them sitting there in the darkness alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Just call me the Queen of the Cliffhanger. I can't help it. Throw things if you like. :) As long as you keep coming back for more... There was much speculation about what will happen when the Doctor confronts Irial. Everybody got your money in the pool? Good... Ladies and Gentlemen...Let's Get Ready to Rumble...**

**By the way, I'm straight stealing this quote from the delightful Heavenmetal's last review. It's too perfect not to lift. Thank you, honey. I do appreciate it.

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**

Today space is magnificent!  
Without bridle or bit or spurs  
Let us ride away on wine  
To a divine, fairy-like heaven!  
~Charles Baudelaire "The Lover's Wine"

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I.

Áinfean had been everything that was charming as they danced. She was so graceful that it was like holding living light in his arms, like guiding something woven from shimmering air around the ballroom floor. She had been so full of allure as she'd looked up at him that she'd practically purred. Her fingertips had brushed his bowtie lightly, had trailed up and down his arm. She'd tossed her curls, tilted her head to show off her stunning profile to its best advantage, leaned close to press her ample curves against him. Her mind, highly able psychically, sparkled and teased, pressed coquettishly against his own in a way that just bordered on something he would have to do something quite forceful about. Outwardly, the Doctor had simply put on the smiling, distant mask he'd long ago cultivated for these situations, battled her back with his patented mixture of witty conversation and pretended ignorance of her designs. Inwardly, he'd sighed, wished he was back with Pond and strengthened his mental defenses. He knew better than to take this open flirtation personally.

_She's after the Time Lord, after the legend. She wants to fill in a ledger page next to Síofra's, some kind of game of Rishellian one-up-manship. Rassilon. I hope Pond never sees that bloody ledger. I need to find out if it's on public display somewhere... I don't think she'd be blasé about it, somehow, particularly if Síofra kept detailed accounts as insinuated. No. Don't think my sweet Pond would just chalk it up to past indiscretions, especially with the lady here being so brazen with things... _

He ran his eyes over the sheer white gown and the lush form it enhanced more than concealed. There was too much of her that was art, too little that was unstudied, honest. Her every response, every laugh was an invitation, a snare.

_Ha. As if I could be truly tempted by this obvious child. She couldn't care less about me personally if she tried. She just wants to...to...bag me... to hang the trophy on the wall..._

Síofra had been a great queen and a great woman. When he had met her, he had been alone and lonely for a long time in his sixth regeneration. Her bondmate had recently died. The two of them had found they had much in common, and when he had helped her with a problem she'd had, the two of them had become friends. The intimacy that had sprung up between them in the brief time he'd been on her world had come as something of a shock to both of them, but not an unwelcome one, ultimately. She'd been brave, smart, and lovely. When it had come time for him to leave, it had been difficult to go with sadness at the parting on both sides. He'd had no idea that it had made it into her chronicle, though. He suspected that Síofra herself would be appalled to know that her private business was being made such public knowledge.

_Then again, _he reflected as Áinfean's dainty hand trailed lightly down the buttons on the front of his shirt and he had to redirect her politely. _I'm not Rishellian. And she did have one hell of a sense of humor. Maybe she thought it was funny, after all._

II.

Added to the other dubious joys of his evening was watching Amy dance with Irial. The Raven Lord was no Rory, lanky and awkward. Irial was textbook hero material, tall, dark, handsome as if he'd been carved for the purpose of making women swoon, and although the Doctor was a poor judge of such things, he feared that those silver eyes were probably the sort of thing women found exotic, as well.

_Rot him. And of course, he would have to be the sodding 'Raven Lord.' I mean, that just drips with Heathcliffean melodrama, doesn't it? Bastard. Why is she smiling and laughing? What is he saying to get her to smile like that? And couldn't he have the good grace to step on her foot just once? Or maybe, oh, I don't know, just fall flat on his chiseled elfin face? Is that asking too much?_

Amy looked happy. He saw Irial smile, too, a real smile, not his usual slight smirk, and he felt something tighten up inside him.

_She's so beautiful. Everybody sees it. The amazing Pond... He's dancing with the real queen tonight, and I'm stuck with..._

Áinfean was talking, and he reluctantly pulled his attention away from the couple across the dance floor with a scowl.

"What? What was that again? Sorry. I was a bit distracted for a moment."

Áinfean's smile was all sweetness and light. "Nay, Doctor. Do not apologize to me. I should beg your forgiveness for bringing up such a thing during a time of festivity. Only...they were the fourth group to disappear..."

The Doctor refocused his attention completely, Irial's annoying perfection as a dancer shoved aside by the promise of a problem to solve.

"Maybe you'd better tell me the whole thing over from the start."

III.

High Lords were disappearing. Sometimes it was one individual alone, but in more recent occurrences, two together had disappeared. They were seen walking through the corridors of the Citadel by the servants, and then, suddenly, they were nowhere to be found.

"Surely you've checked with their families and at country estates, places like that? Maybe they've gone visiting or some such thing?"

Áinfean gave him a level look over her soft smile. In her eyes, the Doctor saw the real woman looking at him, a touch of temper glittering. "Doctor, we are not fools. And you forget we are connected to one another through bonds, both familial and those of mating. Those who are missing _are not_. Their twins, those who are closest to them, cannot feel them anywhere any longer."

The Doctor pondered it, turned her in the dance. "Is there any particular place where it seems to be happening more than any other location?"

Áinfean shook her head. "That is the mystery. The servants say they see them here or there, but we do not know where they are in the end. The last trace we found of the last to go missing was found in the Great Gallery."

The Doctor knew the museum well. Dominating one of the upper floors of the Citadel, it was a mazelike collection of room after room of paintings. Many were so ancient as to be of subjects that no longer had any connection to anything the Rishellians could call reality. Some of them seemed to depict creatures of dream or legend. The Doctor and Síofra had spent many an afternoon touring the Great Gallery together exploring the extraordinary masterpieces there. Some of them had been painted with such majestic skill as to seem almost alive...

"Did any of the others go there? Were there other locations where they have disappeared from? What was found at the scenes? Anything you can tell me might be helpful," the Doctor was turning over theories in his mind.

She looked at him, cocked her head to the side, thinking, "Now that I think of it, I do remember that one or two of the others were last seen near the Gallery, but not in it. Only this last pair were actually last seen within its confines. As for the others, no one is certain where they were when whatever this is happened.

"As for what I can tell you of the disappearances themselves, I can give you almost no information. They simply disappear without a trace. There were a few personal effects, a dropped item or two, left behind them. This last time there was a smear of blood on the floor leading up to the wall. That was the only time there was any thing like that, though. That was the day before you arrived."

The Doctor turned her as the dance required and looked down into her eyes. "I think I'd better have a look at the Great Gallery since that's the last place you know someone disappeared from, don't you?" He held out his arm for her to slip hers through.

Áinfean smiled, and this was as close to a real smile as he'd seen from her. "My dear Lord Doctor, very little else you could have said would have given me greater pleasure." She took his arm, and they left the dance floor together.

IV.

The trip to the Great Gallery was...frustrating. It had settled into its late night aspect, and the Doctor had forgotten what the Citadel of the Moon was like in the early watches of the morning. The carved figures here in this space were grotesques, muscular humanoid bodies with gargoyle-like faces and short, batlike wings holding aloft large orbs. In the daytime and early evening hours, these glowed brightly to allow visitors to see the paintings at their leisure. Now, though, the orbs were dimmed to a faint bronze glow, and shadows were everywhere. The lightbearers themselves became menacing.

As the Doctor and Áinfean passed through the halls that spiraled upwards to the Great Gallery, several times he heard the sound of something whispering. He looked at the queen, but she didn't seem to notice anything amiss. In dark alcoves as they walked they saw Rishellian couples who had left the dance to pursue the courtships they'd begun on the dance floor in more private surroundings. The Doctor's sense of unease grew, but he could not discern the source.

_Can't be from the snogging elves. I mean, honestly, who cares about that? Long as none of them have long black hair and a ginger Earth girl tucked into the corner of their arms, it's nothing to me what the local gentry get up to of an evening. But there's something off here, something in these halls that shouldn't be..._

Áinfean had him by the hand and she drew him on. That whispering came to him again, louder now, and with it the feeling of a wind blowing. He put his finger in his mouth, wet it, held it up. There was no moving air here... Suddenly the queen stopped.

"Here. This is where we found the last traces of ones who disappeared."

The Doctor carefully looked around. There was a large circular bench carved from a single piece of blackish wood, and, in the open center of it, a trio of the carved-stone gargoyle-like lightbearers standing back to back, arms overhead to hold one giant sphere that could light the entire room when it was fully illuminated. Four large paintings were kept in this chamber, four of the ancient ones. Each one showed a different vista. The first was an open field with mountains in the distance. The second showed a crumbling castle under a yellow sky. The third showed a dark forest, ancient boles twined with brilliant flowers. The final painting showed an empty beach with a storm-tossed beach. The Doctor walked around and looked at them, inspecting them carefully, peering at them, at their frames. The whispering came to him again as well as the undeniable feeling that something about this was _wrong_.

"Do you hear that at all?" he murmured to Áinfean, and he began to reach into his coat pocket for his sonic screwdriver. _Need to scan this room. There's something here..._

"Hear what, Doctor?"

That was when everything went insane.

V.

He felt a tremendous surge and swoop in the bond, and he knew that she was in danger. His fingers went numb on the sonic.

"Amy," he whispered. He could feel the incredible euphoria blazing through her, and he was in motion before he'd finished the second syllable of her name.

Áinfean yelled after him, but he abandoned her without another thought, was gone, long loping strides carrying him back down stairs, down hallways, toward the ballroom, toward the Mate he was steadily cursing himself for ever having left in the first place, especially as that horribly-wrong euphoria turned to stark terror. Then, suddenly, horribly, everything screaming through the bond went totally silent.

The last thing he felt just before the bond failed was her calling out for him, and something inside him bared teeth and howled.

VI.

She was not in the ballroom. He'd not bothered with words, with talking to the Rishellians to find her. He'd simply run to the ballroom, shoved rudely through the dancers, disrupting the pattern, causing drinks to be spilled as he forced his way across the ballroom toward where his heart and mind told him that his Mate lay calling for him. He reached through the bond chasing the remnants of the last of that desperate call that had rung out for him, using it to track her. Fear burned through him.

_She's not... Whatever else it is, it's not that. She's okay. She has to be. Has to be okay. It's Pond! Pond has to be okay, right? Pond is always okay... I'll reduce this bloody world to rubble if she's not okay..._

And then he'd stepped out on that terrace to see them there, sitting, see Pond so weak, pale, shaking, and Irial there beside her. His first reaction was relief. Overwhelming relief. His hearts began to beat again, and he wanted to fall down for a moment and just drink in the sight of her. She wasn't going to become another ghost he had to carry with him as he fled through the stars and the centuries. He still had his Amelia...

But then he really _saw_... Saw Irial with Pond's lovely, delicate hand in his own, raised to his lips. His eyes took in more details as he forced himself to walk very slowly across the expanse of pale stone. Why was she leaning against the tall Rishellian and _were her clothes in disarray_?

He fought not to jump to conclusions, but the facts just kept coming...

What had caused that strange surge of euphoria in her? Why was that Rishellian sitting so close to her? And why were they out here all alone in the first place? Irial still held her hand lightly in his own, something the Doctor felt a very strong urge to rip his throat out for.

_Need to let her go now. Need not to be touching her. What has gone on here? _

He sent his mind out to Amy's, but her mind was shielded, silent, and the gentle brush he sent out to her was like running his fingers over a brick wall. Frustration blossomed bright.

"Amelia," he said, his tone sharper than he intended, "here you are! Are you alright?" It didn't come out as concern. It came out as chastisement. He knelt beside her, reached out to check her pulse, try to check her condition and strengthen the bond with physical contact, and she turned her face away from him slightly.

_Into Irial's shoulder. _

The beast in his mind grew fangs, claws, pulled on the chain that restrained him.

"Amy," he whispered. _And oh, it hurt. It hurt like knives removing a thin, thin layer of his heart..._

Irial continued to sit there, unmoved and unmoving. He watched the Doctor from his silver eyes, something flickering through them too quickly to be readable. "She drank Lunacy, Doctor..."

The Doctor's savage temper needed an outlet, any outlet... "What? You drank the Lunacy? Why? After I told you not to? What were you thinking, Amy? Do you have to do _everything _I tell you not to do?" He reached for her again, and again she twisted out of his grasp, this time glaring at him.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Doctor. And it wasn't exactly a thrill ride, let me assure you."

"Amy speaks the truth, Doctor. I am to blame for this. I did not know she would react as she did or I would never have given it to her."

"Oh, I imagine there's plenty of blame to go around. Wait your turn. I'll get to you in a minute, _Raven Lord_."

Irial's mouth twisted into its customary slight smile, but his eyes burned mirror bright. The hand that lay on the pale stone of the terrace lifted, came to rest lightly on the hilt of the long dagger he wore at his waist.

The Doctor did not miss the movement, and his smile became wicked, a satisfied return challenge of savage teeth. His hands, resting lightly across his thighs where he crouched, flexed gently.

Amy watched the exchange and her temper rose to drive out the weakness somewhat. She leaned up, irritation hot in her face. "You two can just stop right there." She turned her attention to the Doctor. She jabbed a slightly shaking finger at him. "You. You're not going to come out here after it's all said and done and pretend you've a right to righteous fury and indignation. _And_ you're not going to give Irial any crap for anything you _think_ he's done. All he did tonight was save me from myself, a job, by the way, which _he_ didn't sign up for I think, so if he deserves anything from you, it would only be your humble thanks and goodwill." She punctuated this with a shove that knocked the Doctor backwards to sit on the terrace even as she began to pull herself up with great difficulty.

Irial was immediately there, helping her rise. She shot him a grateful look. The Doctor stayed where she'd shoved him, looking up at her with an irritated expression, trying to hold on to his rage even as common sense and contrition began to eat away at it.

"Now," she said, "I'm going upstairs to _my_ room, and I'm going to try to go to bed if I can get my head to stop turning in these hellish little circles or exploding for five minutes. You've been busy all evening. I'm sure you can find _plenty_ to keep you occupied for the rest of the night if you put forth a little effort, so I'm just going to let you get back to it. Good night, Doctor!"

Her anger rising and rising, she took a deep breath, turned, and said as sweetly as she possibly could, "Irial, could I trouble you for a hand up the stairs?"

Irial glanced once at the Doctor, catching his furious green eyes with his own amused silver ones. "Of course, milady. I live but to serve."

He held out his arm to Amy and they headed for the great double doors of the ballroom once more. The Doctor watched with increasing rage as Irial slipped his arm around Amy's waist as she stumbled near the lit opening to give her extra support.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: By far, the majority opinion in reviews so far seems to be a) a bit of disappointment that thus far, the Doctor hasn't kicked Irial's teeth in, b) concern over what Amy might be doing with Irial, and c) great curiosity over how the Doctor is going to soothe his savage soul just at this moment in time. All good and valid questions. All I'll say about this chapter is...THE PLOT THICKENS...

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**

Rye thoughts aren't good thoughts, boys

Rye love isn't good love, boys

Have I ever told you 'bout the time

I took it and took her for granted

OH BOY

So let's take some

And take them all for granted

OH BOY

~ from "Rye Whiskey" Punch Brothers

Drinking makes such fools of people, and people are such fools to begin with, that it's compounding a felony.

~Robert Benchley

* * *

I.

As Irial and Amy disappeared into the ballroom, the Doctor continued to sit where she'd shoved him. He didn't trust himself to do anything else just then. The storm of emotions raging inside him demanded too many different actions, and all of them were things the last remaining shreds of his control knew without a shadow of doubt that he'd regret later.

_Let her go. Let him go. Even let **them **go, if that's what's happening. Because if you get up right now, and if you go after them..._

He lay back on the pale stone, put the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressed hard.

_A total screwup. Not what I'd intended at all. How do I keep doing this with Amy? _

A short time later, a soft rustling of fabric across stone whispered to him, and he cringed internally. He recognized the presence that accompanied it.

_Áinfean. Bloody hell. I am not in the mood for coquettish flirtation. I don't even think I can drag up basic politesse right now. Go away little faerie. I'm of half a mind to rip off your wings..._

He did not move, did not remove his hands from his eyes. He heard her settle on the stone wall beside him.

"Your mate? She will suffer no lasting effects?" Her voice was soft, somehow strangely subdued.

"No. I think not. She should be fine in the morning." He took his hands down, folded them across his chest to stare up at the unfamiliar constellations. He focused his concentration on figuring out what stars, what worlds were whirling above him. It was an exercise in control.

"She left with Irial." It was not a question.

He closed his eyes briefly, the fingers on his hands flexing lightly. "Yes. He was...kind enough...to escort her upstairs." He knew he didn't keep the strain out of his voice, but since what he wanted to do was smash the furniture, pull down the Citadel stone-by-stone, he thought he was doing remarkably well, really.

Áinfean rose, walked over to the table, picked up the overturned glass, poured a measure of the golden wine into it, brought it back, held it out. For long moments, he simply lay looking at her.

"Drink it, Doctor. Your tolerances are as ours to Lunacy. And while I can understand that you find my offering of it to you at the present time possibly in poor taste, it strikes me that you could use something just now."

_She can feel it radiating off me like heat from a cast-iron stove, can't she? _His lips quirked in a sardonic, slightly bitter twist, and he sat up. He took the cup from her hand, and he looked at it, looked at the light liquid that shimmered inside and then back at the concerned eyes of the Rishellian Queen who stood beside him.

"'What's drinking?/A mere pause from thinking,'" he quoted, and he downed the cup in a swallow and held it out to her again.

II.

By the time she got to the Fighter and the Fool, Amy was leaning heavily on Irial.

"Milady.."

"Please don't call me that," she panted. "Makes me feel like I should be wearing one of those pointy hats with the scarf on it..."

He laughed softly. "As you wish it. Amy, then?"

"Yeah...that."

He hesitated, still, the use of her first name clearly going against his ingrained behavior, and perhaps, meaning something more to him than she had at first thought about. "Amy...Amy, do you wish me simply to lift you and carry you upstairs? It would be the most expedient way."

They had paused between the massive statues and she looked at the great pale curving expanse of stairs that remained between her and her bedroom. Her legs were trembling already, and she felt so tired that just the thought of climbing one of those wide stairs made her want to weep.

_Pride, Pond. Pride. Chin up. You're tough. You can do stairs. There's no reason to be ridiculous about all this._

She took a deep breath, tightened her grip on Irial's arm and looked up into his concerned silver gaze.

"No. I'll be alright. I can do it. Let's just go very slowly, okay?"

They crept up the first rise as if she were an eighty-year-old with a broken hip. The second was even harder. By the time it came time to attempt the fifth, the clutched weakly at his arm. He arched a brow in question.

"You know how you asked me a minute ago about the carrying? And I said no?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. I think I might have gotten just a wee bit ahead of myself."

Her knees gave out, and he caught her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing, shaking his head, carrying her up the remaining stairs quickly and nimbly. Above them the glowing blade of the Fighter and the illuminated globe of the Fool lit their way. The two massive stone figures impassively looked down on their passage.

III.

Áinfean refused to give the Doctor any more Lunacy after his fifth glass.

"Even for a Rishellian, that is far more than enough. In fact, my Lord Doctor, _even_ a Rishellian would be facedown in a flowerbed by now, truth be told. Your stamina is most impressive."

He grinned slyly. "Not Rishellian, though, am I? Gallifreyan. Dual-hearts. Respiratory-bypass system. All sorts of gadgets and odds and ends you don't have, my pretty little Faerie Queen."

They were sitting at one of the tables now. She had a glass of her own, one that had been Irial's, and she was sipping from it slowly, watching him with amusement.

"La, sir. No one has called the Empress of Rishell by that title and been allowed to live for ten centuries or more."

He threw back his head and laughed. "What? With those wings? You're the embodiment of the Faerie Queen if ever there was one. Answer me this. Just why does that title always make you Rishellians twitch and squirm? I never understood that."

She tilted her head, staring out over the night-dark countryside. "It is...a name of despair for us. It goes to a time in our past when we had a certain glory...and then we lost it. So now to be called 'elf' or 'faerie' is a painful reminder of a past triumph turned to ash." She looked at him directly, placed her hand over his, fingers squeezing tightly for a moment, and her voice grew intent. "Someday, though, Doctor, someday _soon_, I think we are going to reclaim that birthright. And on that day, I will be proud to have you stand beside me and call me the Faerie Queen again."

He looked at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to get his befuddled brain to wrap around her words. There was something in them, something he should be remembering about the history of Rishell, about ...about...

The Lunacy would not let it come. The glittering of the stars distracted him, the sound of the night creatures, of the wind in the trees, of the music the planet turning beneath him spinning through space and time, made him sigh as he felt it all washing through him gently.

"And now, Doctor, I think it's time to take you upstairs." Her voice held vast amusement, endless secrets.

He grinned. "Sure. I just bet Pond is wondering what's happened to me."

Áinfean took his hand in her own and pulled him toward the stairs. He did not see the cat-satisfied smile on her face as they went.

IV.

Irial had carried her to her room, but she remembered very little of the trip. She found herself coming back to consciousness as someone was laying her on her bed with strong gentle hands. The hands tucked covers around her, smoothed the hair off her forehead gently.

"Doctor?" she murmured sleepily.

The hands paused minutely, withdrew.

"Nay, Amy. I am sorry. He is...not here."

Her eyes flew open, startled. _Irial. I'm in my nightie, in my bed, and that's Irial... _She clutched the covers closer.

He smiled that small smile, that quirking of his lips. "You need not fear, milady. Your privacy has not been invaded, I swear it. The servants attended to your...personal needs. I returned only just now to assist them with getting you into the bed for sleeping. You see they are efficient, but not terribly strong, and they did not wish to disturb you in getting you into the bed properly."

Amy remembered being herded into the bath, hands propping her up in a shower. She vaguely remembered a couple of someones helping her into these clean clothes, holding her upright on a stool long enough to brush out her long hair. There had been a great deal of chattering around her, some hissing, some noises that sounded like other languages, hands that had not been hands, all gentle as they prepared her.

She turned her head on the pillow, felt tears form despite her intention to fight them. "Where..." her voice broke, and she licked her lips. Irial brought a glass of water to her and she sipped some. "Where is he?" she asked when she could speak.

He looked at her a long moment, tilted his head slightly. "Do you not know? Can you not find him through your bond?"

She felt embarrassment heating her cheeks and she shook her head. "I...don't...I don't know how to do that."

"Ah." His face became totally unreadable, and he looked away toward the night-darkened window. "I see. I do not know how the bonds of the Lords of Time function, Lady Amelia, but ... a Rishellian would find his bondmate by concentrating on her. That would allow the bond between them to give direction, like a strong tugging so the searcher could find."

She thought back to the way she'd found the Doctor in the TARDIS when she'd wanted him before. The feelings sounded very similar. _Interesting... Why hasn't the Doctor ever taken the time to tell me these things?_

She tried it, got a vague and hazy impression of open space, stars, stone... _Still the terrace, then..._

"Irial?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"Do you have a bondmate?"

His mouth twisted, and she feared she'd stepped into that forbidden pool of protocol again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask something that's rude...I..."

He held up his hand to forestall her questions.

"Nay, Amy. You need not fear offending. Remember what I told you earlier? Nay. I have no bondmate, nor am I permitted any. I am the Raven Lord."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "Okay, Irial. Pretend I'm not from Rishell and that I don't get that for a minute."

Real amusement flashed for a moment, disappeared. "Forgive me. It is forbidden for the Raven Lord to take a mate to himself. It is part of the price of his office. I am to be unbiased in my seeing for the Empire. Even as the Empress is of all the Houses and of None, so, too, must the Raven Lord be. Eventually, though, Áinfean will be allowed to carry on our family line, take a mate and companion if she so chooses."

A missing piece clicked into place for her. "Áinfean is your sister. She's your_ sister_."

"Yes. Of course. My birth twin. Most Rishellians are born twinned. It is rare not to have such a one who shares your birth. Did you not know this?"

Amy had noticed several similar-looking Rishellians walking the Citadel halls, but then again, the Rishellians were all so striking that after awhile, they dazzled the eyes. She'd begun to think the similarities she was noticing were all in her head.

She kept coming back to Irial and the bondmates, though...

"Irial, you will truly never be allowed to have a bondmate? That seems so...cruel..."

He shook his head. "I think on your Earth there is a custom of religious people forswearing the taking of mates to strengthen their devotion and their focus, is there not?"

She nodded, unsure at this interpretation, but deciding it was close enough.

"This, then, is approximately the same thing." He hesitated, reached out, ran one fingertip down her cheek, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Do not be so sad for me, Amy. It is the life I have chosen, and it is a life with many rich and wonderful compensations, I assure you."

_Liar, _she thought.

He smiled again, that flicker of quicksilver amusement darting over his features.

_Does he hear me?_ Her heartrate increased. _He shouldn't be able to hear me..._

His face settled into a calm, still slightly smiling mask, and he met her eyes tranquilly.

"Come and see the Raven House tomorrow when you are feeling better, Amy. I would delight in showing it to you. Then you will be able to see for yourself that I am no lonely old black bird sitting up in my tower."

She smiled. "I might do that." She felt the weariness begin to take her over again.

He rose, bowed, lifted her hand, pressed a light kiss to her fingers, and said, "Until then, milady."

And he turned to go.

V.

The Doctor blindly followed Áinfean. He was much too much caught up in the beauty of the Lunacy, the wonder of the night that sang around him like a delicate symphony to pay attention to where she was leading him. He fully expected at every moment to see the corridor that held his room, fully expected at every moment to be able to go in and tell Pond all about the magic that was flowing through his veins. He wanted to see Pond just now more than anything.

_'Cause I bet... I'll just bet...she's even more lovely just at this very second than she's ever been before. I bet her strawberry mouth is at its most perfectly ripe in this moonlight. Oh, how I want strawberries and moonlight tonight..._

So it was perhaps understandable that he was a bit confused when the chamber he wound up in was vast, echoing, flooded with moonlight through soaring windows, and not his own. The bed in the center was round, draped in slick white silk like a field of enticing ice, and he walked unsteadily towards it in puzzlement.

"Áinfean, I say, Áinfean," he called, "I think you've put me in the wrong room. This isn't where I was before..." His voice echoed slightly off the high arched carved ceilings of the chamber. There was something so familiar about this room, about the way water was reflecting against that ceiling from the fountain on the small terrace outside... _Only last time, wasn't this room done in bolder hues, something...red and gold, maybe?_

"Nay, Doctor. This is exactly the right place for you to be right now. You need care only I can give you. Trust me," her voice was a throaty purr coming from just behind him. He turned around to find her lush and naked, black hair tumbling around her shoulders and opal wings. She ran her hands up his lapels and slid them into his hair to pull him down for a kiss.

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**The Doctor's drinking quote is from Byron.**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: My favorite review for the last chapter was, "Punch her!" I laughed about that for a good five minutes. It seems that some of us saw this coming while others were taken just a bit by surprise (much like our tipsy Doctor). It seems that we're all curious to know what's going to happen next, too. Let's get on with it, shall we?

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**

Wine gives courage and makes men more apt for passion. ~Ovid

I envy people who drink - at least they know what to blame everything on.~Oscar Levant

* * *

I.

The Doctor's arms were suddenly full of pale silken flesh. Áinfean twined around him sinuously, pulling him down to her as she pressed the little red bow of her mouth to his hungrily. He stood dumbly, all his reflexes stunned as she kissed him. His mind, still filled with the music of the dancing galaxy, could not process this new sensation that was overwhelming him. He let her do as she would, let her feast upon him.

She shuffled him back a step, two, and he did not resist her. When she nipped him lightly on the bottom lip, he opened in reflex and she smiled against his mouth before pressing her advantage and slipping her tongue in against his. His knees hit the bed behind him, and he sat down hard. Sitting now, he was face to face with her, and she ran a possessive hand over his cheek, down over his neck and shoulder.

"So lovely. So young and strong and handsome in form, and yet, when I look in those eyes, I can see ancient forever, Doctor. I shall so enjoy having you..."

"Áinfean," he began, trying to pull his mind back together, "we can't...I have to go..."

"Go where? What else could possibly await you tonight more delightful than this? I will make you happy, Doctor. I want to give you pleasure, pleasure that only another who can touch you mind to mind as an equal can give..."

She unerringly slipped her fingertips up to stroke lightly against his temple, and he shuddered. She stepped in between his thighs, pressed her naked body against him, covered his mouth with her own greedily as her hand delicately stroked and circled against his temple. She took his hand in her own, placed it on her waist and then reached up to loosen the knot of his bowtie, slip it off, cast it aside, unbutton the first buttons of his shirt. Then he felt her hand slide down his body, find his zipper, trace it with fingertips, begin to caress.

He couldn't deny that there _was_ pleasure in her touch. He wouldn't lie and say that he felt nothing as she allowed her own need and desire to trickle through her touch, feed themselves to him in skillfully-crafted erotic images through the continued practiced motion of her hand against those sensitive places upon which she had chosen to focus her attack. He wasn't even going to pretend that he found her form unattractive, that body molded by elder gods and sat among mortals to tease and torment. He didn't find her kisses unmoving, for certainly she knew how to kiss a man, how to entice and incite him, and her mouth, her hot, lovely, experienced mouth was made for sin and tasted of honey.

_Honey. Wild honey and cold, distant starfire and dark, dangerous dreams... No, not dreams...illusions..._

His hands found her shoulders, and she murmured against his mouth, a pleased little sound of pleasure and triumph escaping her as they slowly slid down her arms. Suddenly, though, his hands found her wrists, grabbed with bruising strength, and pushed her away from him, holding her with her arms spread wide.

_I wanted strawberries tonight, not honey. Needed truth and ginger, not lies and ebony.  
_

Áinfean's eyes grew wide and she licked her swollen lips. She became very still as he held her away from him, his head down, staring at the floor, striving for control of the darkness inside himself that was suddenly raging, howling. She felt it swirling through him, feared it.

He raised his head, and she saw in his eyes the reason he was known as the Oncoming Storm, as the Lonely God. He smiled a terrible, terrible smile. The sweetness and passivity of the Lunacy was gone...

"What's wrong, Áinfean? Is this not what you wanted?" He jerked her back against him, continued to hold her arms out with a bruising grip. "Didn't you want to bed the great legend?" He turned his face into her neck, smelled her there, felt her shiver in fear...and under that, disgusting to him now, arousal...

_Smells so wrong. Smells...Not Mine. Not my Mate. Would have taken me anyway, though, wouldn't she? Would have tried to make me untrue... _Anger grew. He considered seconds only, lowered the formidable shielding that was second nature to his trained and regimented Time Lord mind, projected it, let her receptive telepathic mind see it.

Áinfean was shaking. "Please, Doctor, I'm sorry..."

"You tried to make me untrue to my bondmate..."

"I did not understand...On Rishell, this would not matter... No one stays faithful to only their bonded..." Her voice was pleading, and she spoke rapidly.

He shook her lightly. "Oh, come now." He smiled that horrible smile again. His voice was soft, frightening. "You thought only of what you wanted, only of besting a queen dead four centuries and still three times your worth." He released her with the lightest of pushes.

Áinfean cried out in anger and pain as she stumbled away, off balance both physically and mentally, her mind reeling. "You would choose a human, a worthless girl-child mortal, one whose mind can never fully join with yours, one who will live like a flash of lightening, over me? Over an Empress of Rishell?" Her beauty was never as great as now, as terrible as at this moment when she stood with her hair tousled, her breasts heaving, her face twisted with passion.

The Doctor stood and walked to the door. When he reached it, he paused, and without turning, he spoke. "No, Áinfean. What I have chosen over you is a woman with more true heart and courage than you could imagine existed. What I have chosen over you is true love instead of a very pretty sort of toy doll I'd always have to worry about turning into a monster and devouring me one night when I slept too deeply. I chose the _real _over the illusion, you see, my dear. One day, I hope you will be wise enough to do the same."

He opened the door and walked out. He heard her high banshee shriek of anger and the crash of something fragile shattering against the heavy door as he went. A savage smile of satisfaction twisted his lips.

II.

His mood was black as he slipped down the darkened halls of the Citadel of the Moon. Much of the Lunacy's effect had worn off him, but some traces he knew would linger for hours.

_Damn stupid of me to drink that stuff. I know how it affects me, knew it from the last time I was here. What was I thinking to sit there and drink it with Áinfean? Silly little fairy tart._

His anger fluxed, grew, and he fought it down. He turned into the corridor that led to their rooms, and he heard a noise. He quickly darted back around the corner to see Irial stepping out of Amy's room.

_What? WHAT? What is this, then? How bloody long does it take to see someone up the stairs? That was..._

He checked his internal sense of time.

_That was two hours ago that he took her up these stairs. Why is he only just now leaving? What has he been doing in her room FOR TWO HOURS? And why don't I know? I should know. She's my bondmate. I SHOULD KNOW._

Irial was smiling and talking as he left. He closed the door to Amy's room and he headed down the hall. The Doctor stepped into an empty room and watched Irial go by. Irial looked happier than the Doctor had ever seen him.

_Well, with the exception of when he was holding Amy in his arms on the dance floor that is... Bloody elves. Bloody Pond. I can barely feel her and I don't know why. I have had enough of this for one night. _

The growling thing inside him agreed. It was time to get some straight answers.

III.

He slipped through the connecting door between his room and Amy's soundlessly fifteen minutes later. She was sleeping, her hair a spill of red across the snowy pillow that made his fingers ache to stroke it, to thread through it. His earlier craving for strawberries returned with a vengeance.

_Not why you're here, though. You're here because you need answers. _

He crept over to the bed, noted the stool sitting there, grimaced. _Irial. He was sitting here, was he? How...kind. How convenient. _He took a deep breath, managed to get the urge to kick it across the room under control, and studied Amy closely.

_No signs of anything untoward. No signs of …. _He didn't let himself finish that thought, even. Instead, he leaned down, reached out a hand and gently stroked her face, his fingers finding the necessary place to go into her mind automatically. She murmured in her sleep, her forehead furrowing into a frown.

_She's pushing against me, pushing me out. She shouldn't be able to **do** that, especially not with the bond, _he thought in frustration. He brought his other hand up, laid it on the other side of her face, strengthened his push.

Amy stirred restlessly, tossing her head a little. What little connection he had felt between them through the bond earlier in the evening abruptly disappeared. He felt something like a wall there, strong, flexible, utterly unmovable, and he gently tested it. It was like trying to shove his way through a portion of the Great Wall of China using only his hands. Then a thought occurred to him. Sometimes, when force wouldn't work...

_*Amy? Amelia Pond? Do you hear me? It's me, the Doctor. Won't you let me in?*_

The wall fell and her mind opened to him once more. The bond restored itself, and he sighed with relief at the renewed connection, at the joy of her mind with his again.

Then she opened her eyes.

IV.

"Hello," he whispered softly. His hands were still cupping her face.

"Hello," she responded in the same tone.

For long moments they sat still, simply looking at one another. Then something potent seemed to spark between them.

It surged through him powerfully as he looked down into her green eyes, this desire a combination of many things amplified by the effects of the Lunacy still lingering in his veins. Mixed here was his ever-abiding love for her, his desire that had been carefully tucked away since he'd seen her in the green gown with its risque cut, his worry over her taking the dangerous wine, his need to claim his mate after watching Irial dancing attendance on her all evening long.

_Moonlight and strawberries and oh how I want them...oh how I want Amelia Pond..._

He leaned down to brush his lips against hers, softly, softly, careful to keep the vastness of the need inside him leashed, controlled, careful to keep his kisses slow, undemanding. He couldn't quite prevent, however, his hand from slipping up and into her hair, fisting there, as she made a small noise of pleasure at the sensation of his mouth on hers, opened for him.

_This. This. Yes. Strawberries and Mine and everything that is real and good... No politics, no greed or games. Just this, oh please. This..._

Her hand slid tremblingly out from under the covers to rest against his cheek. Sweetness washed through him with the touch, and he let it echo in the kiss, in the way he softly brushed his thumb over her cheekbone.

_Doctor, _she thought, and in his name was contentment, simple joy that he was there with her at last as she'd wanted him to be all night. All her anger, all her frustration, all her jealousy was gone for the moment, and there was only this moon-silver tenderness. Storm-clouds would undoubtedly gather on later horizons, but for now, when she still felt so weak, this was what she wanted. She slipped her arms up around his neck, let the weight of them pull him down to her.

Unwilling to stop kissing her, even for the time it would take to shed his clothes and slip into the bed, he simply kicked off his shoes before lifting her slightly in his arms as he moved and sliding in to lay under the covers beside her as he was. Desire shimmered through them just like the moonlight across the polished stone floors.

As he gently pressed his mouth to hers, he listened to the little sound of need she made, took stock of her body through the bond, and made a decision. _She can't bear this tonight. She's still too ill. The mind is willing, but..._ The hand that came up to press over one of his hearts shook ever-so-slightly with fatigue and the after-effects of the Lunacy.

He broke the kiss, pulling back to run his thumb lightly across her swollen lips. Her emerald eyes opened in confusion and mildly irritated puzzlement.

"You know you're just not up to it, Pond," he said softly, responding to her unspoken question.

"I might be," she husked. "You should give a girl some credit, anyway." She smiled, but he saw it in her eyes.

_Because she knows I'm right._

"I never said you're right. You are so arrogant sometimes," she murmured. He smoothed her hair, grinned, tucked her more fully against him.

"Possibly. Although I like to think of it as an extreme and assertive form of very well-founded self-confidence."

She laughed sleepily, poked at him gently with one finger.

"And tell the truth, Amelia Pond. Would you have me any other way?"

She leaned up and kissed him gently. "No. You're _my_ Doctor, for better or worse, lumps and all, just this way, I suppose." She snuggled back against his shoulder.

He was moved powerfully by that blind acceptance, and for a moment could say nothing, only hold her tightly. Finally he found his voice again, forced a note of lightness in.

"Right you are. Now go to sleep, my little tippler. I've a feeling tomorrow is going to be a rather busy day." And he pressed a loving kiss to her bright red hair and kept watch over her, seeing the moon sweep across the floor as the hours passed, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, and reveling in the simple sensation of being with the woman he loved.

* * *

**Will there be a throwdown later? Yeah. The reason it took me SO long to get this post to you is because I went back and forth about when the throwdown is coming. I decided we needed little sweetness before the lightning strikes. But it's a-coming...**

**Forgive the chapter slow-downs, too, folks. The new school year is rolling, and it's largely rolling over me, so...I might not be posting every three days like I have been. Remember, patience is a virtue...**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hm. I was asked by a very nice private message to discontinue all other life until the story was done. I was, in fact, promised cookies for so doing. It's so nice to be loved. :) Although I can't do that (one must pay 'the bills' and I have a small herd of animals here who would definitely not approve), I will try to satisfy everyone with a mammoth update with which you can start your week. Oh, and is anyone hungry?

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**

All women are basically in competition with each other for a handful of eligible men.

~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

A gentleman is simply a patient wolf.

~Lana Turner

* * *

I.

Early the next morning, light spilled across the floor in a brilliant and storybook golden fall of glory. Amy slept on. The Doctor was amusing himself by gently twisting her long hair lightly around his finger, watching the sun set it ablaze as he turned the events of the past day over in his mind, pondering the wall in Amy's mind and the tenuous and unexpectedly incomplete nature of their bond.

_It's a problem. I thought it would iron itself out with time, with strengthening, but it's not, is it? She's blocking somehow. She's got some kind of natural defense or learned response that keeps shutting me out, and it's preventing the bond from being what it ought. Even to the point of putting her in danger last night with the Lunacy... There are things she should know about me that she doesn't...things we should be able to know about one another that we don't...Things I'm just taking for granted that she's able to do or sense that are one-sided or not present in either of us when needed at all..._

The words of Áinfean thrown in anger came back to him..._one whose mind can never fully join with yours..._ He gritted his teeth in frustration.

_No. I refuse to believe that. Just because Pond isn't a Time Lord or a bloody Rishellian butterfly doesn't mean this can't happen. We will overcome this. Look at River Song. She showed up with that blasted diary full of innuendo, and she's human. This can happen. I refuse to believe Áinfean is right..._

His mind shifted to the Empress herself, what she might have up her sleeve by way of vengeance for his actions the previous evening or renewal of her unwanted attentions, then to Irial and his motivations, the disappearing High Lords of Rishell, and...

He heard the door to his chamber open. It was a bare whisper of sound, but his ears caught it distantly. Worse, striking his mind was a presence he definitely could have lived without early this morning...

_Well, give the old girl points for persistence and an on-cue entrance, I suppose..._

He sighed, looked at the dreaming Amelia again, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before gently disengaging himself from her. She murmured at the loss of his warmth and presence, her brow furrowing. He laid his hand on her cheek, dipped lightly into her mind which was still open and receptive to him this morning.

_*Sleep, Amy. It's nothing. I'm still here.*_

Then he turned and went to see what Áinfean wanted.

II.

She was once again resplendent in white. The gown was somewhat more restrained than her ballgown had been. The top was not see-through even though the neckline was still very low cut. A shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the morning air. Her wings were folded neatly on her back, low, not on display. Around her neck she wore a large round pendant with the seal of the Empress of Rishell on it, all the symbols of the Seven Houses worked into it, symbolizing that she was supposedly of all houses and of none. The Doctor couldn't help noticing, though, that into the pattern of her monochromatic gown were woven subtle stylized storm clouds, the sigil for the house that she had been raised from.

_Just can't quite pull it off, can you? Just going to do it your own way, no matter what, aren't you? Spoiled petty child..._

She had been standing at the arch looking out onto the balcony when he came through the tapestries that covered the dividing doors. Her face was slightly anxious despite what seemed like her obvious effort to keep it still. She took light dancing steps that crossed the distance that separated them, stopping in the middle of the large room, some distance still separating them as though her nervousness kept her from approaching.

Her eyes, however... Those cat eyes told another story. This was all a drama. There was nothing hesitant in those silver eyes.

_Ah, Áinfean, you don't have nearly enough years on you for this. Go away, child, before you really make me angry..._

She swept into a deep curtsy. He responded with a court bow. For a long moment, they just looked at each other silently. The Doctor refused to be the first to break the silence. He felt no pity for her. He refused to be a bit character in this little confection of theater.

_You sought me. This was your idea. Your play, Empress._

Áinfean took a hesitant step toward him, stopped. "Doctor," she said, her usually rich musical voice sounding tired, softer than its wont, what he imagined she'd rehearsed as _tragic_, "I...about last night..."

He looked at her a moment. _Ah. Yes. I see, now. Going to have that conversation, are we? Not in here, we're not. _ "The sun this morning is quite lovely, don't you think? Think I might like to just stand about in that..."

He folded his hands behind him, walked across the room and out onto the wide balcony that all the rooms on this floor shared. She followed him, pausing by the door, head down.

"I...I wanted to tell you that I shouldn't have done what I did last night. I shouldn't have taken things so far. You were the worse for the Lunacy, and I feel as though I took advantage. The fault for all of it lies with me. The bed, the kisses, my state of undress, everything that happened after, all of that was my fault."

The Doctor leaned his hands on the railing, looked down over the sprawling wilderness below him on this side of the Citadel. The sun-warmed stone felt good against his hands. The sun itself on his back and shoulders felt delightful. The false piety in the Empress' words did not sit as well with him.

"Too right it is. You'll get no sympathy from me. Look, Áinfean, what are you really here for?"

She paled a little, stepped closer to him, laid her little gloved hand on his arm. "Doctor, please, I am trying to apologize for last night. Had I known what would happen when I took you to my chambers, well, what happened would never have gone so far..." Her hand gripped his upper arm with tenacious strength. He dropped his gaze to it pointedly, and she blushed, removed her hand modestly, dropped her gaze.

_Blimey, she's gone all Victorian on me, hasn't she? Far cry from naked temptress tackling me and groping at my zipper in the dark last night..._

She took a step away from him and turned to look down the long run of the balcony. "Will you ever be able to forgive me for last night, Doctor? It was not my intention to make you unfaithful. I did not understand. You must believe me. On Rishell, we do not keep to one Mate the way you do. We have bondmates for companionship and for offspring, for the true secrets of our hearts, but for pleasure..." She turned again, stepped back to him, raised her eyes to him, shrugged, "As you so well know, we take that where we will." A slow cat-smile crossed her lips as she gently ran a fingertip down his lapel.

He scowled. _Oh, this is much closer to the truth of her, now... _"That's quite enough of that. Didn't I tell you..."

She sighed, cutting him off. "I know. I know. You said last night. I'm sorry. And I am sorry if my coming here this morning is in poor taste. I just could not bear the thought of our parting with ill-will between us after last night. Say all is well, Doctor. I will need your help with these disappearances."

He watched her warily. Her whole mood had shifted since they'd come out on the balcony. She seemed almost giddy now, almost as if she wanted to dance. _Why? Why is she so happy now? What's she up to?_

"Regardless of last night, Áinfean, I would have helped you, anyway. I..."

She cut him off again. "Good. Good. I just _knew_ I could rely upon you. You'd never leave a lady in need, would you, Doctor?" Again, she was suddenly somehow standing far too close to him. Her voice was making those simple words sound like something...dirty...somehow. _How did she do that? _His scowl deepened, his mood darkening.

She turned to go, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He followed her across the chamber to the door leading into the main hall. Just as she reached it, she spun around again.

"I almost forgot!"

He had just taken a quick step back to avoid colliding with her, and now he looked at her uneasily.

"Forgot what?"

"Forgot this, Doctor. I knew you must be looking for it. You left it in my chambers last night when...well...you know..." She laughed musically. "When I sort of ripped it off you, didn't I?" She let that dangle in the air for a moment between them just like the bowtie he'd left in her room when he walked out now was. "I didn't know if you even had another with you, and I know you always wear it, so... We'll talk later about the disappearances, yes?" She dropped the bowtie from her two dainty fingers into his numb hands and then she danced out his door.

He shoved the door closed with more force than the gesture warranted, and leaned against it momentarily, one hand crushing the bowtie in a tight fist. Then he slowly turned around, still leaning against the ancient wood. His eyes were closed, but his mind was humming.

With all the reluctance in the world, he opened his eyes and looked at the tapestry that separated his room from Amelia's. He now knew just why Áinfean had come this morning, why she'd been so disgustingly happy with herself and the situation. She _had_ come for revenge, and he had a feeling that she'd gotten it in spades. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, spoke.

"Are you planning to continue to stand there ticking like a time bomb a little longer, or would you like to come on out and commence the yelling now?"

III.

She woke up to find him gone and was disappointed. The sun streaming across the bed felt so good that she just stretched to the full length of her muscles and tendons for a moment and enjoyed the sensation. She didn't feel even the tiniest bit hung-over, something she'd feared given how sick she'd been the night before, only rested, calm, and she looked out the big windows at the brilliant blue sky.

Then she heard the voices. Curious, she'd gotten up, padded to the balcony door, and listened...

IV.

Amy flung the curtain back. She was so angry she couldn't even form words. Only images of violence tumbled from her mind into the Doctor's. He leaned his head back against the door, banging it softly again and again..

_Yes, indeed. The perfect revenge. Damn clever little fairy tart. Owe her one for that, don't I?_

"Amelia..." he began, his tone low and coaxing.

"Don't... you... bloody... Amelia...me!" she spat, crossing the room.

_Going to be very bad. Oh yes. Very bad indeed. _

She grabbed the other end of the tie he still held, tugged hard, fury etched into every line of her face. "Her? This? Why? And _nakedeness_? _There was nakedness? _Oh, you better explain, and it had by God better be the mother of all good explanations, I'm warning you right now!"

"Amy, I will be most happy to explain if you will just calm down just a little bit, sit down with me, and..." He tried gently to herd her toward a chair, toward the bed, toward someplace other than the door where she had him pinned. She would not, however, be moved.

"Calm? I AM CALM! THIS IS CALM!" She yanked the tie with each exclamation, and he felt his own irritation rising.

_Caught in the middle of this again. Caught by a bloody scheming pissed-off elf and she is angry over something I didn't do and what about her and Irial last night? Hmm? Have I said one word about that? No, I have not... This is enough! I've had ENOUGH. I've tried to be nice to everybody about all of this, and I'm done. I'm just done._

He twisted the tie quickly around his hand, taking up slack until he reeled her in close to him. He spun her around and pressed her hard against the door with the weight of his body. She struggled against him trying to push him away, a sound of pure fury and frustration escaping her when she was unable to move him.

"Amy Pond," he growled, "do you really believe that I betrayed you with that loose bit of...of... fairy baggage?" His eyes bored into hers, seeking for the answer before she spoke it. Hers similarly searched his, looking for what she needed there. "Trust me, Amy," he whispered.

_I could show it all to her, could give her the whole gory thing through the bond, could clear this up in about 10 seconds, but I need for her to trust me. I need...I need..._

"You ask for that so often," she returned in the same quiet tone. "Sometimes it's so hard to do. Especially when all the evidence points in the other direction." _Like right now, _she thought. _Like when I saw her and you all night, with her so beautiful and pressed up against you and..._ He heard it clear as a bell. Her eyes stayed riveted to his, deciding, deciding...

He considered, nodded. "But that's when it means the _most_, Pond. When all the world says guilty and you still believe anyway because _you know me better than that, know that I'd never, ever hurt you_..." _Because, oh, Amy, there will be so many times that the world is going to say I'm bad or wrong or that I've done evil, and the evidence is going to be so much stronger than this, trust me, and if you can't decide that you trust me now... _He held his breath, waited, watched, saw it flicker in her eyes, felt his hearts start to beat again, felt her hands stop pushing against him, start sliding up his chest to encircle his neck, and he lowered his mouth to hers with a sound of hunger mingled with endless relief.

V.

His need for her the night before had not been satiated, only deferred, and it returned now with a vengeance. The kiss, which started as something gentle, became something with a mind of its own, something wild, something a little savage. Her fingers tunneled into his hair, fisted to tug. It was not exactly gentle. He found he didn't exactly mind.

He growled against her mouth, and his hands left the door to skim down the curves of her body restlessly over the soft white gown the Rishellians had provided for her. She made a little noise of pleasure into his mouth when his hands covered her breasts through the thin fabric, and he caressed her firmly, palms cupping, massaging, all the while keeping her pressed back against the door.

Her desire was not less than his own. She _wanted_. She enticed him with kisses, flicking her tongue against his, dueling, retreating, encouraging him to pursue into the sweetness of her mouth, and when he did, she sucked hard, stroking his tongue with her own. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, ripped them back. He took his hands from her long enough to strip the coat off, and then his hands were on her again, one coming up to cup her face, angle her and hold her still for hard, devouring kisses, the other sliding down once more to roll and caress the nipple peaked, aching, and waiting for his touch just beneath the thin white cotton. Her fingers found and dug in to his shoulders, her leg sliding up the outside of his own in invitation.

"Doctor," she panted, as his mouth left hers to find the sensitive places along her neck. Demand was in her tone, in her hands pulling at him. The high neckline of the gown obstructed his ability to kiss her where he longed to mark his claim, and he made a noise of frustration.

He stepped back slightly, looked into her eyes, put both his hands at the neckline of the gown, and tore it right down the middle. She sighed as he pulled the pieces off her arms, let them fall to the floor as they would, reached for him.

He lifted her slightly and she wrapped her legs around his waist, mewling softly as she felt the proof of his need for her pressing against her, even though his trousers and her knickers still separated them. She rocked her hips against him, biting her bottom lip, back arching as she writhed pinned between the heat and hardness of him and the cool smooth wood of the door, and he watched her take her pleasure until he could stand it no more, and he grabbed her hips to stop her.

He buried his face in her neck, lingeringly kissing that spot that marked her as his own, and then he leaned down and nuzzled first one nipple and then the other, flickering the hot tip of his tongue against them. He caught her eye as he did it, and she moaned, threading her fingers through his hair again. "That. Oh yes. That. Please. Right now. I want that, Doctor."

He opened his mouth and he sucked her hard and deep, and she jerked against him, hips twisting in his supporting hands as she rocked herself against him again. He let her buck, grind, slipped a fingertip around and down between them, up and under the damp lace-edged crotch of the panties into slick heat... He continued to lave the swollen bud of her nipple with his tongue, nipped her with his teeth unexpectedly, and she cried out, her head falling back as an orgasm hit her.

He turned with her still wrapped around him, her head lying limply on his shoulder as she panted, recovering, and he headed for the bed, laying her down gently in a pool of sunlight. He quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes, lay down on the bed beside her, ran his hand down her body to cup her possessively through her white cotton panties.

"Mine," he growled, and he had stripped the underwear off her, was moving to roll atop her to possess her when Amy lunged up at him, rolled him over on his back, pinned his arms to either side, settled down to straddle his stomach. She saw surprise followed by a surge of lust in his eyes, and he bared his teeth at her. She leaned down and took his mouth, sucking his bottom lip.

"Mine," she told him, looking him right straight in the eyes. His eyes flared supernova bright, and a strangled sound of desire escaped him, but he did not try to pull free of her grasp. She buried her face in his neck briefly, licked him then nipped him where she knew it would make him insane, and relished the twitch of his hips and the moan he could not control. His hands closed into fists that gripped the sheets tightly.

She looked him in the eyes again, whispered furiously as she positioned her body. "I don't know what happened last night, but whatever it was, I swear you won't bloody remember it in five minutes..." Her voice was low, a growl of her own, and the sound of it, the meaning of her words only aroused him further.

She lowered herself slowly down the massive length of him, body arching with pleasure until all of him was buried deep within. He was growling and twisting under her as she made her first measured rocking of her hips. She leaned forward, releasing his hands at last, and she kissed him. He met her, his newly-freed hands coming up to seize her, pull her down, desperation and hunger making the kiss volatile, incendiary. She put her hands in the middle of his chest, shoved back lightly. His eyes tracked over her predatorially, ran over the strawberry nipples crying out for the attentions of his mouth and hands, down to where she glistened wetly, spread around him, and his hips thrust in reflex to the visual stimulation. Then, suddenly, she ran her nails down his chest hard enough to raise light red lines, and he cried out, his eyes snapping to hers, black with barely-contained lust. "You watch this. You watch me take you deep and you remember." She slid up and she took him back in. His hand grasped her hips, and those words that would not translate were falling from his lips, but he watched. Oh yes. He watched.

Her voice came to him again, velvet and steel and pure possession, "You commit the feeling of this to memory, do you understand? You don't belong to anybody, ever, but me." His head thrashed as once again she slowly lifted her hips and with aching control, resheathed him. He felt her nails again on his chest, light little scratches as her body reacted to the pleasure of feeling him inside her. He watched her arch and shiver, felt her trembling slightly as his hands slid around to cup her firm derrière, hold her as she contracted around him, as she destroyed him...

She moaned, her control shaky, her own need almost swamping her, but she looked down into his eyes again, licked her lips, pushed her hair from her eyes with one hand. "After I'm done with you, you won't be _able_ to chase winged tarts. You won't be _able_ to cavort about in the middle of the night and leave things in the bedrooms of strange women. Because I'm about to use you up, Doctor."

He growled low, something in his own language, dark, vulgar, an invitation for her to take whatever she wanted however she wanted it, his hands tightening on her, his hips bucking restless under her, and still she controlled it, controlled him, made him wait, made him listen. "No. You don't get to say now. You get to listen to me. If you're not listening, you're not ready yet. And you have to be ready. Do you know why? Because I'm gonna grind you straight through this mattress so you will know..." She kissed him, rocked her hips softly. He was making a low, needy sound in his throat by the time she pulled her mouth from his.

"So you won't get confused again." She put her hand on his temple, started stroking soft, sensual circles. His head thrashed and his hips simply began to rock under hers, thrusting, his control gone.

_*Anything, anything...Amelia...Amelia...Amelia...*_

She smiled as she looked down, heard the litany of her name falling from his mind as she began to roll her hips atop his own, began to ride him hard. "That's right," she murmured. "Say my name. Because. You. Are. Mine."

And she proceeded to prove it most thoroughly to both their satisfactions.

VI.

He lay in a sweaty heap with Pond draped across him. He was grinning up at the ceiling like a fool, but he couldn't quite find a way to stop.

_Eh, don't care. Just got completely jumped by my bondmate, savaged, and ridden like a New Lyrian stallion on holy raceday. I may indeed be bleeding from one or two of those little scratches she gave me when she rolled me on the top the first time and told me I'd better be good or else..._

His grin got even bigger. _Or else. And she actually finished the sentence. Oh my. Did she ever finish her sentences today. I suppose, in the future, I will have to just get her very angry and then put a bed nearby... Or. Wonder what she'd do if there **were** no bed... Hmmm..._

Amelia laughed hazily with her face pressed into the curve his shoulder. "You're not really thinking about winding me up just to have slightly violent, really dirty sex on a regular basis, are you?" She shifted a little and raised her head to look at him in disbelief.

He arched one brow, tried to keep a straight face, couldn't do it, started laughing.

She sighed, put her head back down. "You. You're impossibly silly, you know." She opened her mouth and bit him very gently there where her mark already shown sharply in contrast with his pale skin.

He shivered and ran his hand down her spine, his laughter disappearing. "Careful, Amelia. Keep that up, and you know what it will get you..."

She smiled against his skin. "Isn't that a bit like telling somebody not to push the big red button that has 'Push Me' written on it?" She shifted her body against his, gently, lightly grazed his neck with her teeth again.

He rolled her under him, looked down into her eyes. "Let me guess. You'd push that button, wouldn't you?" He was hard and ready for her again, and he rested his aroused length against her, flexed his hips gently. She sighed as he slipped over her, against her, his hardness teasing her.

"Oh yes. That's me. I am a button pusher." She arched back as he kissed her neck, brought his mouth down to the swells of her breasts, kissed the curves of them as his hips lazily rocked, no sense of urgency in their motion.

He laughed softly against her skin, nuzzling her nipple. "Mmm... You know what? I've been known to push a few buttons in my day, too. Let me show you..." He began to suckle her deeply, rolling the flat of his tongue over the sensitive bud, and she sighed with the sensation.

"You're right...You're good with the buttons," she purred.

"Oh, but wait," he murmured, rolling them to the side, coaxing her leg over his hip. "You haven't seen anything, yet. Let me show you my A game." He kissed her again, slipped his fingertip between her legs, seeking until he found the swollen bud of her and she groaned into his mouth. She felt him smile against her lips. He began to stroke, circle, tease, and caress her until she broke the kiss, head falling back, hips restlessly pumping against his relentless hand until her whole body tightened and she shuddered.

"Good," she husked. "Good with the buttons that say, 'Push Me.' You definitely win the gold star." She kissed him softly, rested her head on his shoulder once again, was slipping into sleep when she heard his voice at her ear.

"You know, there's another kind of label on some buttons, Pond."

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Really."

"Mmm-hmmm." He was rolling her onto her back. She laughed.

"What do those buttons say?"

He was sliding down her body, and he pressed a kiss to her navel, ran his hands up the inside of her thighs to push them gently apart. She felt a searing frisson of heat as his summer green eyes flicked up to hers and he smiled. "What? Can't you guess? Surely you've read your Alice. They say, 'Eat Me.'" He lowered his head and licked her with a long slow stroke of his tongue that had her raising her hips to his mouth. He grinned wickedly. "I'm awfully good with those, too, Pond," he said in a confidential tone, and then he got busy showing her.

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**And this update ought to satisfy everybody. A couple of answers to a couple of reviews and for those of you who've thought it and haven't said it: Yeah, there are problems with their bond. Yeah, she should know his name and some other stuff, too. Yeah, he does know that. They are going to work on that next chapter. Well, if they can stop...um...pushing the buttons... (clears throat, looks away).**

**Will there be a throwdown with Áinfean? Is Irial good or bad? Will Amy go to Raven House? What about the cat people? The disappearing Rishellians? The ridiculously ornate setting? It's all connected, folks. It's all coming back around. I hope you're enjoying the slow ride...**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Back to a once-a-week posting schedule. Oh, how I wish I could write more and post more often, but alas, one has to keep one's day job, too. I've got three more chapters at least of this outlined in my head, including fun with Irial/a visit to Raven House, a letter from some dragons, and the mystery of the paintings revealed. It's frustrating not to have the time to sit down and get it typed up anymore. Sigh. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy.

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Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds.

~Franklin D. Roosevelt

No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head.

~Terry Josephson

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I.

"Doctor..."

He made a noise that might have been acknowledgment. It was hard to tell, since he was facedown in the pillows.

"Aren't they going to come looking for us? Isn't there somewhere else we should be this morning? I'm starting to feel a bit hedonistic and, well..._conspicuous_ just staying in bed all day..."

He shifted enough to roll his head to the side and look at her out of eyes unusually peaceful. He reached out and gently stroked her face, that slightly crooked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What? I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is Amelia Pond embarrassed?"

"Well, no... not exactly...it's just that...well, it is a _bit_ obvious that we're not coming out of our rooms isn't it?" The faintest of blushes tinted her cheeks.

_There's nothing about her that's not lovely, is there? Just want to put her in my pocket and carry her around with me always. _He reached out, pulled her hand up, and kissed it lightly because he couldn't seem to help himself.

"No need to get in a bother, I promise. The Rishellians are a late-rising bunch themselves, you see. If you stay up all night long, you need a bit of a lie-in, I suppose. Listen. See how there's no noise?" The barest flickering of his internal sense of time and he told her, "They'll be starting their day soon, and the Citadel as a whole will be coming to life properly."

"But Áinfean...she was already up and dressed and..." Amy's brow was furrowed with the memory of their early morning visitor.

"Ah. Yes. That." The Doctor's good humor began to dissipate with the memory of the Empress's morning visit. "I suppose she had plans she just couldn't _wait_ to get started on bright and early..." Tension showed in the line of his jaw.

Amy noted it, looked at him with assessing eyes. "Will you tell me now?" Her voice was level, soft.

He became very still and for a few moments, she was not sure that he would say anything at all. When he did speak, his tone matched her own. "Are you sure you really want to hear it?"

Her heart quivered just a little at that calm, dangerous softness, but she knew that if she didn't hear it, the danger was greater. She'd always wonder. She'd always worry. She loved him, yes, and she trusted him, but if she didn't yank this particular seed up by its roots right now...

She closed her eyes. "Yes..."

And he told her.

II.

She was shaking with anger as he spoke. She was pacing the cool floor of the chamber, stalking back and forth, gesturing, asking terse questions occasionally, but letting him tell it.

He watched her move, his voice retelling the events in a thoroughly dispassionate tone. It might have happened to anyone, anywhere. He might have been relating a story from a history text instead of something from his personal life, something from last night. He kept still, kept his own emotions out of it, kept his attention all focused on her, on the bond between them. So often before, when she'd become angry, especially when she'd become angry or emotionally confused as it related to him...

Sure enough, the more upset she became, the less he felt her through their bond. As he related Áinfean's attempt at seduction in her bedroom, her kisses, her touches, the wall he'd expected suddenly sprang up and except for the barest minimal sensation of her presence, he felt nothing from her.

_Yes. As I thought. It's a defense mechanism of some kind. But does she know she's doing it? That's the question..._

"Pond...Pond, stop a minute." His voice, his sudden urgency of tone, snapped her attention to him and she froze in her tracks.

"What? You're not done. Why aren't you telling me the rest? Finish the story. What did she do after she stripped down and crawled all over you? What's left to tell?" _Oh God, how will I bear it? If he tells me that she seduced him, that he slept with her while he was drunk on that wine, how will I stand it? How can I STAND IT? I can't stand it Ican'tstanditI...I..._

"Pond. Amelia. I need you to pay attention. This is important." He'd come across the room, took her gently by the arms.

She pushed at him. "So's this, Doctor. Finish. The. Story." He looked down into her eyes which were bright with unshed tears, ran a hand through his hair in frustration, nodded.

"Fine. Right. The story. The temptation of the Doctor... right." He took a deep breath, did some quick editing of the parts where Áinfean had disparaged Amy, and summed up the rest by saying, "I told her to sod off, basically."

Amy let out a disbelieving laugh, threw her hands in the air and turned away from him. "All of that. All of that build up and you expect me to believe that was the end of it? Just a simple, 'bugger off'? Sure. Right. Okay..." She grasped the low curving back of the vanity table chair for support, leaned heavily against it.

He fought impatience. _We must get this done. She must believe me. There are things so much more __important that bloody Áinfean here. I just saw the wall go up. Now I have to see if I can get her to lower it. I think I know why it's there... Oh Amelia, we have so much to say, but this is not the conversation we need... _

He stepped up behind her, slipped his hands around her waist, pulled her back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder. She squirmed slightly to try to dislodge him, and when she couldn't, she stood frozen like a marble statue, staring off into space.

"Pond," he said softly, his voice filling her ear. "I did _not_ sleep with Áinfean. That's why she came in here this morning trying to stir up trouble. And I think we have to give credit where it's due to the Empress, succeeding fairly admirably on that front, really. Look, she's a schemer. She's got I don't know how many plots in play right now. She conned me upstairs by getting me drunk on that damn Lunacy, which I should have avoided like the plague, after spending all night telling me she had a great mystery so I'd trust her and giving me sympathy after you and I fell out. Not that she doesn't have a mystery. She really does. There's a problem here, something that is profoundly wrong. I'm working on it. But you know what?" He waited, but he got no response. He'd expected none, really.

He continued. "That's not what worries me the most. What worries me the most is the fact that every single time you get mad at me, you cut off the connection between us."

Her eyes flew to his in the mirror, startled, wary, confused. "What? I don't know what you..."

"I know you don't. That's the puzzling thing. Doing what you're doing should take a telepath of massive natural strength, exceptional training, and regular application of skills. And it shouldn't be something that happens by accident." He kissed her shoulder lightly. She shivered. Her eyes were wide.

"Right now, you've put up a giant wall in your head and it's keeping me out. I can barely feel you at all. It's a bit terrifying how strong you are with that, Amelia Pond. Because I'm not exactly what you call a beginner, a hobbyist, or a weakling in this area, and every time I've looked at it, I've felt like someone standing at the foot of Everest looking up and realizing that I've come equipped with only a pocket knife, a ham sandwich, and a reindeer jumper I got as a Christmas gift."

She had to laugh at the absurdity of his simile, but then she grew uncertain again. "How...how is that...I mean...how can I.. I don't know how..." She turned in his arms, pressed herself against him. "How is it possible? Is it bad? How did that happen, Doctor?" His arms came around her held her to him comfortingly.

"Well, I have a couple of theories. Your mind is more telepathically sensitive than the average human's, Amy. I knew it since I met you. So that's definitely going to be part of it. However, I suspect that your mind was altered by the flow of time through it from the crack in your wall. Couldn't possibly have lived next to something like that for as long as you did and not have had some effect from it. A bit like living next to something kicking off high amounts of radiation, I suppose. It might take a long time to show up, but...

"Anyway, I sensed it when I dipped in there to find your dreaming self when Prisoner Zero forged its link. And then, of course, there was Prisoner Zero all those years carefully worming its way in. Your mind began to form a defense mechanism against it, but of course it wasn't strong enough that first time to block out the intrusion totally. However, since I was able to reach you that first time and help you shape the dream, I think you must have been blocking out at least some of its influence. You had some free will, some ability to control your dream. You'd already laid the foundations of your wall, as it were.

"Then you started to travel with me, and telepathic influence surrounded you all the time. Your mind, your poor invaded mind, was a bit like an oyster invaded by a million grains of sand. It started turning out not one pearl but a wall of it. I mean, it's not that you found the TARDIS or me a threat, at least not all the time, I guess, but we're there, aren't we? And your mind could feel us banging about in the vicinity, and well, I suppose it started making sure that it could keep us on our side of the fence if it wanted to. Although, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure even the wall you have going, as strong as it is, will do you much good against the TARDIS. She's much stronger than I am..."

Amy was looking up at him with confused eyes, trying to process what he was telling her.

"So...you're saying that I have some kind of...what...mental force field that kicks if I feel threatened? Is that it? But that can't be right, Doctor. What about the Angels? They got in with no problem... And the thing that wiped my memory on StarShip UK?"

He nodded. "StarShip UK was a voluntary action. You consented to that, so your mind didn't jump in and fight. Also, that was very early on, if you remember. As for the other, well, the Angels are the Angels, right?"

She wondered if he thought _that_ explained everything. She made a face as she concluded that in Doctor-land, it probably did... Minutes passed in silence, and they stood listening to one another's heartbeats. His hands made soothing circles on her back.

She dredged up her courage finally and asked the question she'd been chasing around her head, "Is...does it mean...is there something wrong with me?"

He leaned back to look at her very seriously for a moment, brought his hands up to cradle her face, tipped her head down and kissed her very gently on the forehead, then softly on both temples.

"No," his voice was achingly gentle. "No, Amelia. There is nothing wrong with _you_ whatsoever." He drew her back against him. She felt the first of the knots of tension beginning to come undone. Then he spoke again.

"There is, however, something wrong with _us. _The bond. It's just not working out like it should be, you see?"

III.

She raised her head to look at him with shock in her eyes. His were filled with resignation. He took her hands and he led her over to the bed. He sat down. She remained standing, her heart pounding. He patted the mattress beside him with a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

_So we're not compatible after all. And now he's going to tell me. And then I guess he'll take me home..._

She shook her head. "No. If I'm to receive bad news, then I think I'd like to get it standing up, thank you."

He looked at her oddly. "What? What are you on about with the 'bad news' bit? What bad news?"

"Isn't this the part where you tell me, 'So sorry, old girl. Been a boxload of fun, but it's just not working out'?"

For a moment, complete incomprehension reigned. Then his eyes sparked with humor and he fell back on the bed laughing. She felt her temper rising.

"Don't you laugh at me! Don't you dare lie there and laugh!" She grabbed the pillow from beside him and she brandished it. "I'm warning you..." He continued to guffaw, and she walloped him with the pillow. This simply sent him into fresh gales of glee. She drew back and hit him again, harder.

"Oh stop, stop, Pond. Please... I can't...breathe..."

"Good," she growled, "teach you to laugh at me. Hope you bloody pass out." And she raised the pillow over her head another time only to have him reach up and drag her down on the bed, pillow and all. He rolled her beneath him and pinned her gently. She glared up at him. He was still chuckling.

"It's so NOT funny."

"I'd say that rather depends on your position at the moment."

She snorted and turned her head away.

"You didn't really think I was about to tell you we were over, did you, Pond?" His voice was soft, suddenly, yearning, and it had her eyes coming back to his immediately, the ball of pain and anger inside her now shot through with uncertainty.

"You're not?"

He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. "You're my Mate, Pond. You're Mine. And I'm awfully sorry to tell you, but... that is a forever sort of thing." He dipped his head and nuzzled that place on her neck softly, kissed her there once. "I could no more walk away from you than I could cut one of these hearts out." He folded his fingers with hers, pressed their hands together against his chest to feel the slow dual beat there.

Her eyes searched his, saw nothing but stars and truth there. "I thought...I thought...that since I...that since I keep blocking you that maybe the bond...that maybe we aren't..." She stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.

He smiled and kissed her gently, put everything he was feeling into that tender meeting of their lips. "No, Amelia Pond. You are Mine. You are my chosen BondMate. We _are_ joined. It may not be a perfect joining...yet...but it will be so in time, if you will work with me."

She nodded. "Tell me what to do."

He gently placed his fingertips at her temples, was pleased to notice that she did not tense at all at his touch, and he kissed her again. "Just let me in. Just let me in."

IV.

She frowned up at him. "And I do that by..."

He grinned. "Right. Talking in riddles again? Sorry. Okay. I am going to try to slip into your mind. Last night, when you were blocking me, I sort of ….well for lack of an easier description, knocked on the door, and you opened it for me. That's what I want us to practice now. I don't want you to get rid of this wall. It's actually a very good thing that you have it. I just want you to stop using it on me."

His expression and his tone changed. The fingers at her temples tightened ever so slightly. "You can't keep cutting off the bond between us, Amy. When you do, I can't know things I should know. Like last night. I didn't know what was causing the surge of emotions I felt. I didn't know if...if...you were alive or dead...after the wall came down so hard when the Lunacy kicked in...and...and.." His face was a study in despair.

She reached up and linked her arms around his neck, rubbing gently with her hands, soothing. "Shhh. Shh.. It's okay. Just tell me. Just tell me how to keep it from happening again, okay?"

He nodded, took a deep breath, focused. "Close your eyes." She did. He did, too.

"Listen for my voice, for the feeling of me inside."

She focused all her attention, and for a long time, there was nothing. It was like being inside a void. There were only the sounds of the birdsong outside, the wind, the noises of the Citadel as it was coming to life around them. She focused harder, and she realized that faintly, ever so faintly, she felt that distant tug toward something, a sound like thunder very far away.

"Good," he whispered. "Go towards it. Remember, Amy. Let me in..."

She turned her mind toward the thunder, pursuing it inward, and she found herself in another place altogether.

V.

She was standing in the courtyard of a white-walled castle, complete with pennants flying from the battlements. She looked down to see herself dressed in the same long green gown she'd worn in the dream she'd had of Gallifrey.

"Doctor," she called. There was no response. He was not here. She could not feel him anywhere. And then it happened.

_Wait. Who was it I was looking for? I can't...I can't remember... And besides, who else could I possibly need here? _

She knew this place, however. She felt utterly safe here. She felt as though she'd been here many times before, and she began to walk slowly around the courtyard, looking at the odd carvings along the walls. There were friezes there, figures in battle, she herself an armor-clad warrior with a shining sword carved into the white stone in scenes of triumph over a snake with rows of razor teeth, again in another over a winged thing with a fanged face, other people in other battles covering a portion of the blank walls. In some of the pictures there was a man with her fighting by her side, but his face was always obscured, or one could only see his back. She felt a tug of curiosity about him as she strolled by.

_Who is that, again? Shouldn't I know him? If he was there at those victories, shouldn't I remember his name? No. The sculptor must have just put him in there to balance the image..._

Still, as she walked past, she couldn't help but feel the curve of that shoulder, the line of that hand, that head full of wild hair was somehow...familiar... Shaking her head, she put it aside, turned to survey the collection as a whole. She noticed that some of the walls were still bare, and she knew that in time, they, too would be covered with victories. This fortress was the key to those victories...

But she had come here seeking something. _What was it again? _That tug at her mind came again, and thunder rolled loudly. She looked up, frowned. Rain would be unwelcome today. There was much to do, work to be done on the fortress. There was _always _work to be done on the fortress...

She walked over to a place where faceless figures made like artist's wooden manikin were lifting and shaping blocks of the gleaming white stone into place and she surveyed their work. Their little flat or round knob hands were oddly capable at their task, and she did not question how they cut the stone or held the tools. This simply _was_. Lightning split the sky above her, thunder again rumbling impatiently, and for a moment, she froze. She had heard in that rolling bass of the thunder something impossible. She'd heard _her name_.

_Nonsense. It will not rain here. It does not rain here. We have no storms here. Here we are safe. Nevertheless, I am reminded that I came here for a reason...what was it I was supposed to be looking for? I should go and find it... It was important and..._

She walked slowly around the inner courtyard, puzzling over it, nibbling gently at her cuticle, trying to remember. Outside the walls of the fortress, the storm broke, a grey curtain of rain obscuring everything from view. Thunder and lightning battered at the walls, and she smiled in satisfaction. Not one drop of rain touched the interior of the castle.

_Ha. Do your worst. You will not get in here. These walls are mighty. I have raised these foundations myself. _

She tipped her head back and she yelled defiantly up at the sky. She kept walking.

_Perhaps if I went up on the battlements, I could see the whole of the fortress, and that might help me remember. I know that there is something I came here for. Something important. Something I needed to find or do..._

She climbed the stairs, enjoying the feeling of running her fingers along the stone as the staircase spiraled upwards.

_Everything here is whole, complete, perfect. Every stone fits to every other stone. There is order, perfection, control. There are no holes here that anything can slink through, slither into. I have made sure. _

Outside flashes of lightning lit the narrow windows again and again. She rolled her eyes at them, fought the childish urge to stick out her tongue. When she reached the battlements, she began to walk looking down into the castle proper. Nothing caught her eye as the thing she had been meaning to do. The wind from the storm lifted her heavy hair, fanned it out like a red flag, and she laughed. It felt good. Her dress flapped in the high wind, and she felt for a moment as if she could extend her arms and sail away into the dark sky, that the gale would lift her, support her, carry her like a strong hand.

_Maybe storms aren't **total** rubbish then. Might be fun to fly like that..._

Suddenly the tug came again, stronger than it had ever been, and she felt the irresistible urge to _look down_. Frowning, she glanced down at the foot of the battlements and she saw pressed against the white stone a sodden figure standing knee-deep in the fast-rising water the storm was dumping outside the walls. His hands were spread against the smooth rock, and he was staring up at her with anguish and despair in his summer green eyes. _It almost looks like... He almost seems like..._ It was the man from the carvings inside come to life.

_Him. I...know...him. Don't I? I...he...I...need...him. _

But there was no door in the wall. The fortress had no doors. If one could get out it, after all, then an enterprising baddie could get in it. There were no doors here, no windows lower than thirty feet off the ground, and none of those were larger than arrow slits or other military openings.

_But I **need** him._

She continued to stare down at him, and he raised a fist and knocked gently against the flat surface. Although it was impossible, she felt that soft knock almost as if it were an earthquake. The whole fortress shifted slightly. She cried out in alarm, and she dashed back into the safety of the stairwell, cowering on the first landing, shaking.

_What is he? Whatisheisheishe? Nobody should be able to move my fortress. Built it strong, built it secure. Is he a baddie? _A silver sword flickered into being in her hand, bright as the full moon on the surface of the sea, then disappeared as she began to calm slightly.

_No. Can't be. Need him. Can't be a baddie if I need him. Right?_

She took a deep breath and she crept out on the battlements again. She peered over the edge. His eyes were waiting for hers. The water was now up to his waist. He knocked again. Again, everything danced. Again, she retreated. Not quite so far, this time, though. This time, she simply ran as far as the edge of the stairs and stopped. Then she turned and walked back, stared down again, curiously.

The water had risen quicker than it seemed possible, lapped around his chest. It got higher as she watched. His face was tired, and he slumped against the stone now, pale and weak. He looked at her, and she could see despite the rain falling on him that he was crying. He raised his hand and he gently knocked one last time. Again the fortress shifted uneasily, but this time, she ran not at all. His mouth shaped a word, then two, as the water reached his neck.

_*Pond. Please.*_

_The Doctor. It's the Doctor! And he's come here for me!_

_Doctor! No! Wait!_ she cried out against the howling storm.

She spun frantically, looking down at the interior, but there was nothing there that was of help. The builders calmly continued to fit stone after stone into place. When she looked down again, the water had covered the Doctor completely. She could see him dimly under the and anger filled her with determination.

_Am I not mistress here? Is this not the world of my own bidding? _

She raced down the stairs and into the courtyard, and she grabbed a large hammer from one of the manikins as she flew past it. Her long green gown trailed behind her as she ran. She allowed the sense inside her to be her guide as she sprinted down the length of wall behind which she knew the Doctor was submerged, waiting, possibly drowning, the hero who had fought beside her in her battles now perishing because he was locked outside the fortress. _No! I'm coming! _She followed the tug, listening to the sound inside her. When she found it, she placed her hand on the wall lightly, tapped hesitantly. An answering knock from outside shook the fortress again.

_He's here. Thank God. Still alive!_

She drew back the hammer, started to swing, and stopped in mid-strike.

_Wait! If you make a breech in these walls... Anything can get in. If you let him in, **really** let him in here, what defense do you have, Amy? How will you protect yourself? Don't you know that there can be NO DOORS? NO HOLES? Haven't you been working hard all this time to make sure this place is safe? And now, you're going to give that up, damage it in such a way that it may never be safe again...for what?_

The hammer wavered, and she thought she heard, almost heard her name, really just a whisper of sound, an impossible thing, given the situation, but her heart swelled with it, and she drew back again, determination filling her.

_For love, _she cried. And she smashed the hammer into the wall. A large hole appeared through which poured a flood of water that swept her off her feet, much loose stone, and a pale, limp, almost unconscious Time Lord.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Sorry about the delay everybody. Things are quite difficult right now, so even though I want to write, I don't have much chance to do so, what with one obligation and another piling up and up and up. Oh, how I wish a blue police box would appear in MY back yard one evening...**

* * *

I don't care about my future  
I don't care about your past  
those things come from and lead to right now  
they can get the hell out fast

so I am yours if you want me  
you know what now I think you should  
cause I want you to be mine so bad  
I promise I will make it good

"I'm Yours If You Want Me" ~ Chris Thile

* * *

I.

Amy pushed her sodden hair from her face and sat up sputtering. She crawled across the rubble-strewn stones of the courtyard to where the Doctor lay sprawled.

_Doctor? Doctor? Can you hear me? _

She ran her hands over his face, feeling for a pulse at his neck. There didn't seem to be one. She leaned over, tears filling her eyes, and she pressed her ear to his chest to listen for his heartbeat. There was no sound.

She wept. _Too late. I was too late. I didn't remember in time and I..._

His arms closed around her with a convulsive clutching grasp as he drew in a noisy gulp of air.

_*That's not for me, is it, Pond? Oh, come now. Remember, respiratory by-pass? And besides...in this place...everything is possible, isn't it?*_

She looked at him with astonishment as he gently wiped away her tears with his fingers. She couldn't help but notice his hands, despite his unconcerned tone, were just a little bit unsteady. She wrapped her arms around him in return and for a time, they simply lay there holding each other tightly.

It occurred to her how uncomfortable it was to be wet and cold, how much more she would like it if she weren't, if he wasn't, and with the whim of her mind, they were clean and dry, the rubble of the destroyed wall vanished and all traces of the water from the storm gone as well. The only indication that any of it had ever happened was the large uneven gap in the wall before them.

_*We'll want to do something about that, I imagine.*_

_We will? _She was tired. She didn't want to build anything else. She just wanted to rest. Building walls took so much effort. Building walls took a very long time. Didn't he know that?

He smiled, kissed her hair. _*What if we don't make this bit a wall?*_

She looked at him in curiosity. _How will I keep them out if it's not a wall? Gates are no good..._

_*Oh yes. I quite agree. And about that. I think I have something you might like...*_

II.

When they were done, the gap in the white stone walls had been filled in with a small, shining, and very familiar bright blue wooden set of double-doors. The entire area around those doors was refilled with stone. They stood in front of the double doors, and the Doctor watched as Amy ran musing fingertips over the white and black porcelain sign there, over the small round lock that held them closed. She turned to him finally and smiled.

_*Much better than a gate, right?* _

His tone bordered on that smugness he often had when one of his plans had turned out the way he wanted. She resisted reminding him that those same plans often resulted in the two of them fleeing in panic from weapons fire not long after, but she couldn't quite stop the eyeroll that accompanied the thought. He saw it and just grinned.

_Yeah, so, score one for you._

_* Pond, you're missing the most brilliant part of the whole brilliant thing!*_ He rubbed his hands together eagerly. _*Open the door,*_ he urged.

She looked at it somewhat uneasily, back to him.

_*Go ahead. Nothing in the world to worry about.*_ He was rocking back and forth on his heels, arms folded behind him, happy smug little expression on his face.

Muttering to herself, she pushed against the TARDIS door lightly with the tips of her fingers. It swung open easily. She edged forward to peer through the opening. What she saw made her pause in confusion before stepping across that familiar threshold.

_What have you done? What is this? _She asked, puzzlement written in every line of her face.

_*I know!*_ He crowed, following her. _*See? Come on! Look around. Fantastic, isn't it?*_

III.

Through the TARDIS doors she was standing in a small chamber with high arched ceilings. A warm golden glow pervaded the air. The walls of the little room were lined with shelves filled with books, bits of machinery, artifacts, and objects that seemed to flicker in and out of existence. Only about every third thing she saw was even remotely familiar. Above her, the ceiling was a glass dome and the skies it revealed were spiraling stars in patterns that shifted like the shimmering fragments in a giant kaleidoscope.

Although she had never been in this place before, she somehow recognized it immediately. The feel of it was somehow utterly...

_Him. This is him. This is...his place... _

She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. Safety and warmth wrapped around her. He stood just behind her and watched her, expectation written on his every feature.

_So you've put in a connecting door?_

He nodded. She had the distinct feeling that he was waiting on something else, though. She continued looking at the chamber, noticed for the first time that there were three doors leading out from that space like spokes from a central hub. She felt the need to know what was behind those doors. She began to drift toward one of them, the nearest with its large round strangely familiar seal, but he stayed curiously still behind her.

She placed her hand on the knob of the door and it disappeared in front of her. Before her was a familiar vista, a rolling sea of reddish grass overspread by an orange sky. Distantly, she could see a small hill topped by a silver-leafed tree rising from the grasslands. Beyond that she saw a shimmering dome rising up and a great city within, like something out of a fairy tale.

She knew that place. _Gallifrey. _She smiled, fond remembrances crowding into her mind, and she turned to say something to him, but he was no longer there.

_Doctor?_

Her voice came back to her echoing off the high ceiling. She paused, scanning the room to see where he might be, but there was no sign of him. She sighed. Perhaps he'd disappeared behind one of the other doors, then...

She walked to one of the others and studied it. There were no markings on it. It appeared to be just a door. It was made of sturdy dark wood, and when she pressed her hand to it, it swung open with the quiet creak of seldom used hinges. She could see nothing in the dim lighting beyond, but there seemed to be a persistent hum coming from somewhere inside. It was not unlike the purr of the TARDIS as she spun through space and time.

_Maybe he's gone in here? _

Uncertainly, she stepped across the threshold. The world fell out from under her on her third step away from the door.

IV.

Images swirled around her, faces, places, objects, beginnings, endings. She was suddenly Alice tumbling down a rabbit-hole of 900-odd years of bold adventures in space and time. It was as if a voice was in her head telling her what she was seeing, a changing narrating voice as the events encased her like a multicolored flame.

She saw Daleks and armies of metal robotic men – _Cybermen_, the clipped formal voice told her – and she watched them appear over and over, changing slightly, but always wicked, always bringing destruction with them; she saw strong troops of odd potato-ish creatures that could only be destroyed through a knife-slit in their armor – _Sontarans, _said a voice somewhat grumpy and fussy – and she felt the fear of being chased through the TARDIS by them, of watching the Earth be brought to its knees by them; she saw tall lumpy, long-limbed and clawed green monsters who hid inside of human skins; she saw robots as tall as sky-scrapers, creatures from myth, and a real Egyptian god – _Sutekh, _intoned a voice that was deeper, more sonorous than the others – who'd been trapped inside an ancient pyramid. She saw a clever enemy who pursued and changed through time; she saw his face morph and shift, bearded and hawk-eyed one moment, something horrible and decaying the next, slender and dark again before changing suddenly to something innocuous and gray-haired before finally settling into something blond and smiling and smug that she almost recognized. She heard the raw despair and mixed emotion in the voice that named him over the image of that maniacally-grinning face disappearing into the unknowable – _the Master_. She saw faces of people she instinctively knew were travelers with the Doctor – the companions – and their names came to her with affection and sometimes with grief as she saw them. And through it all, she saw – _the Doctor_ – only not her Raggedy Doctor – not the young face with the old eyes that she had known the night he'd dragged himself out of a tipped-over blue box in her midnight garden while she stood in her red sweater and watched with child eyes. These Doctors were a mixed bag of men, but always, always no matter whether they were old or youngish, tall or short, dark or fair, clad in scarf or leather jacket, she saw that they were same man underneath, racing from adventure to adventure, from joy to joy, and all-too-often, from grief to grief.

Suddenly, just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and she realized she was still standing just inside that semi-darkened room. She took a deep breath, and she turned and walked unsteadily out of the room. The door swung shut behind her.

He had reappeared from wherever it was that he'd gone to before, and now he was standing in the middle of the room again. She would have spoken, would have gone to him to relate the experience she'd just had, but something about his expression stopped her. There was such sadness in it. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he rocked back on his heels. He gestured with his head toward the third door, and she glanced at it. When she looked back at him, he had turned and was walking away. As she watched, his form became somewhat indistinct, then faded away altogether.

A heavy feeling of dread sat upon her as she considered the third door again. It was smooth, black, and totally featureless. It reflected no light. It looked as though it might be made of metal, but if it were metal, it was one solid-forged piece. No bolts or welds marred its oppressive surface. There was no knob, no visible means of opening it. She approached it, but for a long moments, she could not make herself reach out to touch it. There was something vaguely...repulsive...about it somehow.

_I guess I have to go in here, too, though. He obviously wanted me to. I wonder if this one is open, too, like the last one was. Come on, Pond. It's just a door..._

She reached up to place her hand on that flat-black surface, and she pushed. With a sound like something screaming, it shifted slightly, but did not open. She pulled her hand back and looked at it in distaste. There was a residue, something brown and flaky, coating her skin where it had touched the door. She dusted her hands together, but it clung.

_Bloody wonderful._

She put both hands on the door and shoved hard. The door swung inward, and she stumbled inside prepared for some sort of scenario as she'd had in the previous room. However, nothing happened. The room beyond the door was lit with a reddish light. In the center of the space was a statue of a humanoid figure standing on some sort of pyre. Its body contorted as if in agony. She could barely see it in the dim light so she cautiously walked forward. As she got closer, she could see the detail of the carving. The arms lifted above the head both in a gesture of supplication and in warding. The face was a nightmare mask, a rictus of pain and despair, and she found that she couldn't bear to look at it very long. There was something about the eyes that was too lifelike for the abstract work, somehow too...aware...

And yet, there was something so compelling about it. There was something about the texture of the material it was carved from that seemed to be crying out to her to run her hand along it, to feel the curving edge of the clear crystal flames that were snaking up the dark stone body from the base of the plinth. Yes. She wasn't going to be able to stop herself from touching it, she realized, and even though she suddenly knew it was a very, very bad idea, she watched as her hand stretched forward, felt her mouth forming a silent denial, a silent scream, as her fingertips brushed ever-so-lightly against the outermost tip of the curling flames and she found herself plunged into the burning heart of hell...

V.

When the images stopped, she realized she was still screaming, but no sound was coming from her anymore. Her throat was too raw to produce sound. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the sharp edges of the protruding crystal flames, and trails of her own blood streamed down her arms and the clear sculpture from the large cuts on her hands. The stone of the statue had taken on a disturbingly rosy hue near its base where her blood was slowly pooling. She tried to let go of the carving, but she could not make her cramped hands release it. Amy whimpered softly as she finally managed to prize her fingers open and promptly collapsed on the floor, staring up at the twisted face above.

The Doctor's voice came to her softly from the door. _*Now you know the worst of it, Amelia. Now you know it all, the good and the bad.*_

She did not move, could not. Part of her wanted so very much to roll into a ball to defend herself from that voice, to get up and run as far away as she could from this shadowy figure so close to her now, this god-man who could destroy and had destroyed worlds with the touch of his hand; part of her wanted to get strength from somewhere to run _to_ him, for him to hold her and keep her safe; part of her, a small, dark, sad voice, said with utter despair that it did not make any difference at all what she did, really, any more. _She'd seen them all burn..._

_*Yes. And I did that. There was no other choice in the end. The Time War had to stop. The Time Lords...they had to be a part of that price...* _The grief in his voice was measureless, beyond counting, even though she knew he was trying to hide it.

She shifted slightly, and her bleeding hands flexed. She knew. She'd seen. Oh God, how she wished she could _unsee _it. How she wished she could _unknow _it. Unknow the feeling of an entire world being ripped from the universe, from _space_, from _time_, from _him_...

_*You have it all, now, Amy. We have all of each other. There are no more secrets left, no more walls, no more barriers. Everything that was separating us has been removed now and the way is clear and open...* _ He had not moved away from the entrance to this room, this shrine, she realized. This place where he kept all that was lost, all that had been taken, all that he had done and been made to do. There was something slightly pleading in his voice. He was asking her for something...

His words from so long ago came back to her. _"The Mate holds all the power in the bond. She must __choose. She must choose to establish it initially, to intertwine their minds. She must choose to allow all true forms of intimacy. He can court, entreat, can seduce, can pursue, but only She can release him fully..."_

She turned her head and she looked at him from where she lay, broken and exhausted on the rough floor. Using the last of her waning strength, she slid her hand out toward him and she waited. She drew in a breath and by the time she was ready to let it out, he was holding her, cradling her. It felt good. She closed her eyes, leaned against him.

When she opened her eyes again, they were no longer in the third chamber with its incarnadine light and its horrific monument to loss. Instead, they were sitting under the silver-leafed tree and a cool, sweet-scented breeze was blowing, stirring waves in the red-orange grass that stretched before them. He held her close to him, pressed a kiss to her temple, gently smoothed her hair away from her face. He took her hands in his own and began to stroke his thumbs very lightly over the jagged tears in her palms. As she watched the livid red rips started to disappear. At once, the pain of those wounds diminished, and in a few moments, only two small white lines, one in each palm, remained to show that she'd ever been injured there.

That feeling of being connected to him was present as it never had been before. She felt tired beyond her ability to express, as though she could sleep for a hundred years, but also a peacefulness that she hadn't had since...well, Amy really couldn't remember when, actually. There was no sense of intrusiveness. There was simply the sense that he _was_ in a way that she hadn't felt before. She felt as if she'd been of the blind philosophers in the old joke before who had been confronted with an elephant, this one thinking it a snake, this one horse, this one a tree... She laughed softly.

_*What?*_

_Don't imagine you'll find it very flattering, being compared to an elephant._

He considered. _*Oh, I don't know. They're properly smart, elephants. I'll have to take you to Telios IV sometime and introduce you to the Elephant Emperor. Entire planet ruled by elephant kind. It's rather fantastic.*_

She smiled drowsily. She could feel his excitement buzz through her like a giant release of cola fizz. This, too, felt good. His joy was her own.

_Will it always be like this now?_

He smiled down at her. _*This? This is just the beginning. But yeah. This is what it's supposed to be, Amelia. Is it...Are you...Is it okay?*_

She could feel the sudden nervousness in his question. For an answer she placed her hand over the heart her head wasn't resting against and she sighed in contentment. Then she turned her face up to his and she pressed her lips against his very softly. She felt his hands tighten around her, but he kept the kiss very, very gentle.

When they parted, she asked him, _Is this everything, then? Got any more little bombshells to drop? If so, let's have 'em while we're at it._

He chuckled softly. _*I'm afraid you've got the whole kit and kaboodle now, Pond.* _Then he paused. _*Well, except for one __**little**__ thing..._*

She looked up at him and she stared. _What could possibly be left? And before you answer that __question, is it going to cause me to wind up feeling like I've been hit by a freight train?_

He ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip. _*No. I promise. This won't hurt a bit. And it's something that I think you've been wanting to know for a long time. I would have told you before, but until the bond was whole, I couldn't. You see, I can't tell just anyone this, and really, Pond, I had to wait to tell you here, too...*_

She would have cracked a joke, would have made a smart-aleck comment, but there was that air of anticipation around him again. She was suddenly reminded of a little boy holding a present behind his back, scuffing his toe in the dirt, unsure of the reception of his gift. She cupped his cheek.

_Okay. So we're here. Everything is in place. Don't keep me in suspense, then._

He looked at her for just a minute more and then he leaned down and whispered in her ear. He spoke only a few words but her hands clamped down on his arms and her eyes grew wide. Tears pooled in them, and her lips parted on a soundless little gasp as what he was telling her sank in. He pulled back and looked at her with some concern.

_*Amy? Pond? Are you okay? I didn't want to upset you, but now I **can** tell you, and I've wanted to tell you for so long. Possibly I should have waited. You're clearly not at your best, but I thought that maybe you'd like to know it now. I **thought** you would. I mean...*_

Her tear-bright eyes locked with his for seconds before her fingers twined in his hair and she pulled him down into a deep, hot kiss.

_*Ah, so, you ARE pleased with that bit of information, then, I take it?*_

_You have no idea. But let me see if I can show you.

* * *

_

**This was one of the most difficult chapters of this I've ever written. How was I going to accomplish the things I needed to do here, since so many of them are "theoretical" and since there is so very much of it to deal with when you start talking about all the history involved, especially since a lot of it has not been worked out in the canon? I have agonized over how to show the Doctor's mind for awhile now. I've been turning over how to visualize 907 years of history, especially the "tough stuff" for about a month now, knowing this chapter was eventually coming. This is what I finally came up with. I hope it passes muster. I also decided Not to Deal with What His Name Is. Others far better equipped to handle this than I have done so. I don't think I'm wise enough to name the Doctor. I'm leaving it between him and his Mate. I hope you'll understand.**

**Your feedback is most appreciated.  
**


	30. Chapter 30

**Thought I was gone, didn't you? No. Just veery slow with the updates. It's going to be this way, folks. I'm sorry. **

**In happier news, mostly, people seem to be pleased by the last chapter. Thank you. That pleases me. It was tricky, especially the bit with the name. I'm glad most of you think it should be left between them, too.**

**On with the show.

* * *

**

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

~John Lennon

* * *

I.

"So you're sure it's okay that we just got up and left the palace this morning? We didn't need to leave somebody a note or something?"

The Doctor didn't even look up from the vendor's stall of odds and ends he was poking through. "What? Oh...no. It's fine. I'm sure of it. Remember what I told you? Be hours yet before the court gets up and about. We have plenty of time to explore here in the city, take in a little local culture, and so on. Come here and take a look at this! I haven't seen one of these in ages..."

Amy sighed, but she had a smile on her face. She couldn't help it. She'd been mostly happy since their eyes had opened and she'd realized that everything she had felt in that dreamlike place between and inside their two minds was still there. There were moments of shadow that flickered briefly, flashes of what she'd seen, of what she now knew, but they were mostly subsumed in this new togetherness. She looked down at her palm and traced her thumb across the thin, white scar there. There was one on each hand. Each looked old, like a wound she might have received in childhood, something serious that had healed. She knew it hadn't been there before...

_Before the bond became whole. Before I knew him for all he is. Before he told me his name._

"Pond," he called, looking up from whatever it was that he had unearthed. "You must see this. Come on!" She could feel his eagerness frothing through the bond like seafoam along with the steady strong baseline hum of his love for her.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she walked over to see what treasure he'd discovered here in this Rishellian sidestreet.

II.

They spent the remainder of the morning poking around in the marketplace and touring the city outside the palace walls. It was when they were on their way back that Amy mentioned it.

"Doctor, why aren't there any Rishellians living in the city?"

He smiled just a little, and she could feel something like a sense of being pleased coming from him. "Who's to say that there aren't?"

"Look, I know what I just saw, and I didn't see a single pointed ear or pair of wings..."

"True. There are no High Lords living in the outer city. Or, well, they might live there, but they don't engage in trade. They would be in supervisory roles, crowd control, and so on."

"Well, then who are the people who actually live in the outer city?"

"They're the rest of Rishell, Amy. This planet isn't all elves. There are many different races represented here. Right now, in this time, the High Lords are the ruling caste of Rishell."

"You said, 'right now.' Does that change?"

The Doctor smiled that enigmatic smile and waved his hand in a circular arc that took in the poverty of the city and the shining luxury of the palace. "There's an imbalance. The few have much and the many have almost nothing. You do the maths on that one."

Amy knew enough about the history of her own world to know how that story generally turned out...

They were almost back to the gates of the palace when a High Lord clad in bright green caught up with them. His long blond hair streamed back over his shoulders, and although he was clearly moving at great speed, his steps looked effortless and graceful. He took the middle of the crowded city street as his own. Amy noticed that the common humans and others on the street were almost tripping in their haste to get out of his way. She also noticed that he took this as his due, took no more notice of their efforts than if they had been animals or insects. She and the Doctor exchanged knowing glances at this display of conspicuously entitled behavior.

When he stopped in front of them, he bowed low, a court bow, and stayed in it until the Doctor waved what looked to Amy vaguely like the sign of the cross over him. The golden-haired High Lord stood up and flipped his mane over his collar before smoothing his hand down the front of his green velvet tunic in a gesture that could only be called preening. Amy could feel a rich amusement flowing from the Doctor. The only outward sign of it she could see on his face, though was the sparkle to his eyes and the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips.

_Interesting. I wonder if I would even notice if I didn't have this connectedness to guide me. _

"Milord Doctor, I presume?" The High Lord's voice was unctuous and superior at the same time. Amy was impressed at his ability to maintain such disparate attitudes in one utterance.

"At your service, certainly, dear sir." The Doctor answered, just a little too earnestly.

"The Empress has been seeking you for more than an _hour_, milord." The way he said it made it sound like sad-eyed puppies had been kicked and babies had had their candy taken away just because of this. Amy's lips twitched despite her better efforts, and she slid her teeth into her bottom one to keep a smile from appearing.

"Um... Yes. Sorry. What was it she wanted again?"

The High Lord's mouth thinned. Clearly Amy and the Doctor were not suitably impressed with the situation. What more could one expect from Others, though, _really_?

"Áinfean, _Empress_ of Rishell, bids me tell you haste to the main audience chamber. There a messenger waits who will _only_ speak with you." His tone of voice managed to mix boredom, suspicion, and accusation together somehow.

The Doctor's amusement disappeared. "What do you mean, a messenger who will only speak with me? This person asked for me by name? I don't understand."

The High Lord, sensing the Doctor's sudden change of mood, smirked. "Oh _yes_, milord. By _name_. And he will talk to none other. Lizards are bloody stubborn that way."

III.

Amy sensed the change in the Doctor immediately. He took her hand in his with a subtle squeeze.

_*Don't ask me now. It's very, very complicated, and well, I thought there weren't any of them left, actually.*_

_Oh, nooo you don't. Lizards? What does that mean when it's at home, Doctor?_

They were hurrying behind the High Lord, and they were sliding through the crowds again like some sort of sea-parting miracle.

_*Last time I was here, I searched everywhere for them. I've met them on other worlds, you see, but all the places here I looked, there was nothing left but bones, fossil records, sites where they had been...*_

_Doctor, slow down! You're losing me. What is it you're talking about? _He was distracted, though, and he wasn't paying attention to her, his mind racing, images coming at her in a confusing blur of places that she could not quite decipher until finally she simply dampered the connection between them to prevent being overwhelmed. She could still feel his excitement, but the flood of information stopped._  
_

They crossed the huge chamber where the Fighter and the Fool stood now, and neither the Doctor nor the High Lord guide slowed. Amy could sense that same eagerness for discovery that the Doctor had been feeling earlier when he'd found that bit of junk in the stall in the market but multiplied by a hundred, maybe by a thousand as they approached the doors to Áinfean's throneroom.

IV.

Beyond those huge carved doors was a frozen tableau. Áinfean sat on her throne on its raised dais, resplendent in white. At her shoulder was Irial. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, his dark cape thrown back to keep it from being in the way if he needed to draw his blade quickly. His silver eyes were focused with deadly intensity on the being in the center of the room. They barely even flicked away to acknowledge Amy and the Doctor. Amy had the impression of a very large dog straining against a very strong collar.

The courtiers themselves had drawn back from the center of the room to stand in small clumps, each similar in its coloration and fabric décor. Amy guessed they had arranged themselves by their Houses. Each House grouping was staring at the individual in the center of the room with baleful and untrusting glares. They were whispering and muttering under their breaths. None of them seemed brave enough to make their comments louder than that, though. Indeed, if any of their voices raised to the point of quasi-audibility, they were heartily shushed by those they were standing with, and fearful looks were quickly shot at the still figure in the center of the room, as if it might be provoked into action by what had just been said. When the figure did not move, their faces became haughty again, and the whispers resumed...

All the noises stopped when Áinfean noticed the Doctor's presence. She stood with something like relief on her face and said in a voice loud enough to carry across the entire room, "Milord Doctor! How good of you to join us today. I hope we have not disturbed your rest?" Her tone was tinged with acidity and sarcasm.

The Doctor pasted a genial smile on, folded his hands behind his back, and stepped into the center of the room. "No, no. Amy and I were just touring in town, getting a bit of local color and fresh air. Sorry not to have been available in an emergency. Amy told me to leave a note, didn't you Amelia? Nothing like a good old-fashioned note to keep everyone informed..."

Amy just nodded. She had a feeling that this wasn't really a conversation she was a part of...

Áinfean smiled again, strained. She looked as though she might have a headache coming on. "Yes. Well. You're here now. That's the important thing. I would like to introduce you to someone, Doctor. He has come a very long distance specifically to meet you." Her tone indicated that she would like this person to go back where he came from or to any other place that was an equally long distance away again as soon as possible. And possibly take the Doctor with him when he went.

The Doctor ignored the tone, took all the words at literal face value. He was really very good at doing that. He turned his attention to the tall slender figure in the center of the room.

"Really? Just to meet me? I am flattered, sir. Whom do I have the honor of meeting?"

The being had been in the exact middle of the room, surrounded by but totally untouched by the goings-on in there. It had been facing the throne, sitting crosslegged in a graceful pose of total motionless ease. It now unfolded itself and rose in one sinuous motion, turning to face Amy and the Doctor for the first time. What she saw took her breath away.

_It has to be a mask._

_*Ah, but that's the beauty of it, Amelia Pond. No. No, it doesn't. And it isn't. Not at all.*_

_What is it, Doctor?_

_*That, Pond,*_ he said with great relish, _*__**that**__ is what you would call a dragon.*_

V.

The dragon's face at first reminded Amy of nothing so much as masks she'd seen from Japan, tapestries, paintings, and carvings friends of hers who had lived there had photographed. The difference was this carving lived, moved, had musculature under the hard shiny surface and uncanny intelligence in its bright golden eyes.

Amy shivered slightly as those eyes pinned hers briefly. She felt as though she was falling into a pool of liquid gold. It was extremely quick, but she knew it for what it was. She felt herself weighed, measured, and cataloged. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it was an unusual one. _Am I never going to quit meeting things that want to rummage around in my head? That gets SO old..._ She looked a little uncertainly at the being, and she realized that amusement was dancing in those eyes. One lid slid down and back up.

_Did it just wink at me? Do dragons wink? _

The dragon opened its mouth in an expression that showed far too many sharp white teeth for her liking. A dark purple tongue flickered out and a slight hissing laugh escaped it.

"Yes. And we laugh, too, Lady Pond. I hope you will not take offense at it."

She looked at the creature again. The dragon stood a full head taller than the Doctor, and although it wore loose pants and a top that reminded her of something from a martial arts film, she didn't find it immediately threatening. There was something about it that she found...likable. Maybe it was the way the light was dancing off its dark green scales. Maybe it was the way it had felt when it had so gently brushed its mind across her own, politely, surface-testing, like a handshake, really, compared to some explorations she'd had. Maybe, too, it was because the High Lords, Áinfean in particular, seemed to fear him so.

"Nah. No harm done," she grinned back at him.

The dragon gave an elegant little bow of his head, pleased and turned his attention back to the Doctor. The Doctor had been watching this whole exchange, saying nothing. Amy had felt him tense slightly when the dragon had brushed his mind across her own, but he had not reacted in any way other than that tiny heightening of tension. Once the dragon had winked at her, even that had dissipated.

"I believe you are looking for me," the Doctor said, slipping his hand down to take Amy's.

The dragon nodded. "We have been waiting for two hundreds for you, Lord of Time. Since the Awakening. Since we Emerged. The Dragon King requests your presence in the Heart of the Mountain. He has sent me here to retrieve you immediately if you will consent to come."

The Doctor tilted his head. "What's going on? Why the immediate departure?"

The dragon met his gaze easily. "He said you would ask. He said I was to tell you that although you are Lord of Time, there are some moments you will not wish to see. These are what he wishes to tell you of when you arrive. I have no further information than this message. I am merely an ambassador. The King did not see fit to disclose any other detail other than that it is critical that you come now."

The Doctor looked from the dragon to Amy. "What do you say, Pond? Want to go see the dragons?"

Before Amy could reply, the dragon cleared his throat politely. Both turned to face him again. "I apologize if I was unclear. I have been sent to fetch _you_. Only you. I have no directive concerning your mate, Doctor."

The Doctor frowned. "You're saying she can't come?"

The dragon looked at him for a long moment, and Amy sensed something passing between them. Even with the bond, though, she could not tell what it was, exactly that was being shared. Then the dragon spoke. "I'm saying that I have been given no orders for her transport. You must consult with the Dragon King for more information."

Apparently, the Doctor had gotten something important from that last exchange that Amy had missed. His head was down, and he wore his "intensely thinking" expression. "I see. I see," he muttered. "Well, in that case, I suppose I'd better be getting there as soon as possible, then, right?"

* * *

**Any guesses on what's going on with dragon kind? Oh, and look for Irial to be popping up big-time in the next couple of installments. Please put on your patient-people hats in waiting for these installments, however...**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: It's appropriate that I'm writing about dragons now. I've been dealing with my own sort of dragons lately in daily life. The ones I'm writing here are far less cantankerous, however. On to the Doctor and the Dragon King. Thanks to those of you who still read this and tell me that you like it, despite the long delays.

* * *

**

We think, sometimes, there's not a dragon left. Not one brave knight, not a single princess gliding through secret forests, enchanting deer and butterflies with her smile. What a pleasure to be wrong.

~ Richard Bach

* * *

I.

"Doctor, I still don't like this. I still think I should go with you. Look, surely you could just, sort of, I don't know...tell them I'm your mate or something and that I had to come?" Amy's expression was mutinous. She stood in the middle of the room watching him, her arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping.

The Doctor, who was throwing an odd assortment of things into two bags, a smallish one he'd requested for himself and a larger one for her, did not pause in his frantic dance around the chamber. He picked up a brass coaster from the beside table, turned it over and inspected it minutely, laid it back down, then seemed to think better of it, picked it up again, and threw it in his bag. Likewise, a moment later, a solid silver multi-armed candelabrum that had stood decoratively on the mantel went in, too. He already had quite an assortment of metal objects in it that he'd shamelessly pilfered from both their rooms.

"Pond. We've been all through this. If the Dragon King did not _send_ for you, I cannot _take_ you. There are rules here, and violating them without exceptional circumstances is how red-haired beauties become the main course at state dinners..." He tried to fit a large gold tray into his bag, but it was too long to fit. He muttered in frustration and tossed it onto the bed.

She was not mollified in the least by the "red-haired beauty" comment. Really. She wasn't.

"Well, will you tell me why you're packing my bag then?"

"Because I plan to go downstairs and do a bit of light drama, _say_ you're going with the emissary and me, and have him drop you off in the forest we arrived in. He should be able to do that. He seems an agreeable fellow. Because you, my dear little trouble magnet, are going right back to the TARDIS. And you may have to hike it a bit to get there." He picked up a sharp little knife from their breakfast tray and dropped it in her bag along with two of the uncut fruits there.

"Wait. _What_? And did you just call me a trouble-magnet?"

He sighed and stopped finally. "Amy, something is going on here. Something very seriously wrong. I knew it that first night. I don't want to leave you here alone. I believe the Dragon King is calling me to give me information about it, hopefully something that will help me prevent it altogether. You heard what the emissary said."

"That there are some moments of time even you don't want to see."

"Right. And if any of those are about to happen, quite frankly, I'd feel much better if you were safely tucked up in the TARDIS." She saw a ghost of his past flicker through his eyes, and she felt a corresponding shiver trace down her spine, and her offer to stay behind and explore in his absence died on her lips. _Because if it's so bad he can't handle it..._

"What do you really know about this Dragon King, Doctor?"

He shrugged, leaving off his packing for a moment and pacing over to the window to lean against the frame. Outside, the daylight was starting to turn that rich gold of late afternoon. "I've never met him personally, although I have met others of his kind on other worlds. Once upon a time, they were on several worlds throughout the galaxy. Now, though... Anyway, last time I was here, I tried to find him, tried to find the clutch of dragons I thought to be here on Rishell. All I found were bones and debris. He must have hidden his people deep somehow. After seeing the response of the Empress and her gentle people today, I don't wonder..."

"You said you'd met others of his kind. What are they like?"

He gazed out over the scenery before him with an arch to his brow and a twist to his lips. "Like every other race, I suppose. His kind can be either very, very good or..." He trailed off, his mind wandering down other paths.

"Or?" Her tone was impatient.

He laughed, that short bark with no humor, looking at her over his shoulder. "Or not, Pond. Or not. They're fantastically long-lived beings. And that's coming from someone who's got 907 years under his belt, mind you. I've met both the beneficent ones and the power-mad ones in my travels. They're telepathic, telekinetic, and their technology...actually, they make the Time Lords look like rank amateurs in so many areas, quite frankly, that we had something of a rivalry with them when there were sufficient number of either of us for such things. One of the closest things to real magic there is, I suppose.

"You used to have them on Earth, you know. Then your kind grew to fear their powers and massed up to slay them when they entered their hibernation phases. Not really very sporting, that... They all died or emigrated. Became the stuff of legend..."

His voice became wistful at the end, and she knew he was thinking of his own lost people, of loss and destruction. She could feel the wash of sadness coming from him. She walked over to where he stood, and she slipped her hands into his, rested her head against his chest to listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat. She felt his thumbs seek and find the tiny ridges of the white scars in the middle of her palms. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. They remained like that for long moments.

"Be...be... careful for me, okay? Just in case this one isn't one of the good ones. Make sure you...come back." She whispered it when she spoke.

He smiled against her hair. "Ah, no worries. You know me. I always turn up again...Well, sooner or later."

II.

A servant had already carried down the two pieces of luggage the Doctor had packed, and despite the small size of the Doctor's, the porter's eyes had widened as he'd hefted the suspiciously-clanking and jangling bag. He'd said nothing, though, merely glanced at the Doctor as he'd gone out. The Doctor had smiled and nodded, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back as he'd watched the poor creature struggle with the weight.

Amy looked around the room and back at him. It was really happening, then. They were about to be separated. She hadn't been without him since...since... She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his neck, suddenly needing the reassurance of touch. He cradled her face in his hands, rested his forehead against hers a moment before softly kissing her.

"We won't really be apart, Pond," the Doctor murmured against her lips.

_*There is always this. We will be connected through this...*_

They walked down the great staircase hand-in-hand. It amazed him how fast he'd grown used to this easy affection. When they passed the Fool and the Fighter, they saw the dragon emissary standing with indolent grace near the carved doors. He might have been alone for all the attention he paid to the other group of individuals in the room. The High Lord courtiers were waiting with postures ranging from an ill-disguised discomfort to open hostility on the other side of the large room. Their tension and antipathy radiated like heat from a cast-iron stove.

_*Don't you just hate it when the children can't play nicely together?*_

The Doctor squeezed her hand as he tried to coax a smile from her, but she could barely force the corners of her lips to turn up. Too many emotions were swirling inside her to allow mirth.

They stood between the two groups, and for a moment, no one spoke. Amy had the uncomfortable feeling of being a small, tasty mouse caught amongst very large cats. Then the Doctor broke the silence.

"Here we all are again, then. And I suppose we'd better be getting along. Áinfean, we thank you for your hospitality. I do hope we'll be able to drop in again before we leave."

Áinfean came forward, her raven brow arching. "Oh, are you _both_ going with the emissary, then?"

"Ah,well, yes. Slight change of plans. As it turns out, Amy is going to make the journey, after all."

All eyes turned to the dragon emissary who, after the slightest of hesitations and a careful study of the Doctor's face, bowed in confirmation.

Áinfean smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "I was so hoping your good Lady Pond would stay here with us in the city while you went to see the Dragon King. She was not, after all, included in the invitation to go, and I would hate for anything to cause friction with diplomacy with the liza...I mean the honorable dragon nation. Everyone knows how...sensitive they can be... Since I know you plan to keep your word and return to help us with our problem, I am sure she would be comfortable waiting for you here. I know I, personally, was expecting her to stay. Entertainments had been planned in her honor."

Amy glanced up at the Doctor. _Read: We're in deep poo with the elves if I leave. What do we do now?_

_*I won't leave you here. Not with her. I don't trust her as far as I could pick her up and throw her. Actually, all things considered, far less...*_

The Doctor stepped closer to Áinfean, a move that put Amy just a little behind him, his smile equally unpleasant, equally non-indicative of enjoyment. "Oh, but I wouldn't for all the world take advantage of your kindness, milady."

Áinfean's lips parted, her wings flicked open, and her teeth bared. "My good Doctor, you could never inconvenience me. I must insist you honor me with the chance to prove it." Behind her, armed High Lords stirred softly. She and the Doctor stared at each other, neither willing to bend.

"Nay, sister. I must protest! You cannot claim the lady as your guest just yet, I think," said a deep voice from near the foot of the stairs. All eyes turned to focus on Irial. He gracefully strode forward, a spot of solemnity in a sea of brilliant color. The ranks of High Lord courtiers parted for him. He stopped before Amy and bowed slightly.

"Milady, I believe you accepted my invitation to be my guest at Raven House last night, did you not? I shall be most deeply wounded if you choose my sister over me..." Irial's serious gaze belied the playful tone, urging her to confirm his words. He held his hand out for her to slip hers into, a sign of her acceptance.

Amy felt the tension in the Doctor flicker, change, become aimed at Irial as well as his sister, but no comment came from him through the bond. His eyes flicked to hers briefly, then away. She saw his jaw flex.

_Oh, and he won't like what I'm about to do, but I don't see any other way out of this, _she thought in the privacy of her own mind, turning over other options and finding none.

She pasted a smile on her lips and placed her hand in Irial's.

"I wasn't sure you remembered, milord. Thank you for your kindness in, um, renewing your invitation. Of course I will be happy to go to Raven House."

III.

Áinfean had faked delight with the arrangements. Irial's delight, she thought, had been real. The Doctor had forced a smile, and Amy, personally, had just wanted to get everyone out of the room before all the big predators involved started tearing into each other. Everyone had made their way out of the grand entrance hall and out to the courtyard where Rishellian Chargers were called for to take Irial, Amy, and a few other High Lords back to Raven House.

The horses had been saddled, the bags packed, and all that remained were the last of the goodbyes. Amy had been trying to ignore the low growl that was coming to her through the bond as Irial took over the preparations for her transfer to his house. She couldn't help but notice that there were no horses being prepared for the Doctor or the dragon emissary.

Finally, she and the Doctor were given a private moment to say their last goodbyes. He took her by the wrist and dragged her to a private corner of the courtyard outside. She tugged at his grip, complaining loudly.

"Oi! You're hurting me! Stop! Don't drag me like a sack of potatoes!" She pulled free and punched him none too lightly in retaliation.

They stood glaring at each other for a moment before she looked down at her feet and he looked away, running a hand through his hair.

_*So much for "tender goodbyes," I suppose.*_

_Look, what else would you have me do? I couldn't go with you. I'm not staying here. My options were a little limited._

_*I know. I know. But I don't trust him, Amy. He wants something from you, and I haven't been able to figure out quite what it is yet. You must be careful.*_

She snorted and looked up at him, the hint of a smile appearing for the first time. _And that wouldn't be my wolfie's wee voice of jealousy snarling at me, now would it?_

His lips quirked slightly, too, and he took a step closer to her. _*Only a bit. Okay. Alright. Yes. A lot. Because he wants that, too, and don't think otherwise. But that doesn't negate the fact that he's up to something. Trust me on this one, and keep your eyes open, please, Pond?* _He gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek as he finished the gesture.

She leaned her face into his hand, stepped close and wrapped her arms around him. _Yeah, yeah. You know me. I never get into any trouble at all if I can help it. _

_*It's that you just can't seem to help it that's the worry to me...*_

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she looked up at him. _Ha! Pot, kettle... Look who's talking!_

He grinned that manic, crooked little smile and he ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip. _*Both of us, and far too much, Pond.* _The sound of voices came to them from the main courtyard. Irial could clearly be heard ordering his retainers to finish the preparations. He gave commands for "the Lady Amelia's horse," and the Doctor's smile disappeared, and something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, urgently brushing his lips across her own. *_Now. Kiss me before one of those damned elves comes around the corner and tells you it's time to go...*_

IV.

Irial had patiently waited for her to finish saying goodbye to the Doctor. The Doctor had walked her over to the waiting Rishellian Charger and had seen to it that she was up in her saddle and ready to ride, giving her a leg up and checking the saddle and cinches himself despite the fact that Irial was personally standing beside the Charger waiting to be of assistance if needed. He studiously ignored the presence of the High Lord altogether. He found problems with all the fastenings, and redid them meticulously. Irial stood calmly, that tiny ironic smile playing around his lips.

The Doctor had turned away from one last adjustment to her bridle, and he and the tall High Lord had been face-to-face. The two had stared at each other for a long, long moment, and although nothing had been said, Amy could feel that silent powerful communication, that silent challenge passing between them as she had before when she'd stood between them at the Fool and the Fighter. Irial finally bowed slightly, turning to go and mount his own Charger. The Doctor watched him go, lightly touching Amy on the leg with just the tips of his fingers and glancing up out of the corner of his eye as he'd turned back to the dragon who simply stood watching the entire affair as though it were a form of high entertainment.

Irial had made a gesture with his hand, and her Charger had suddenly been in motion. There'd been no more time to worry about the exchange between the two men or to try to do anything but hold on. As she'd been riding out of the Citadel gates, she'd brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked back to wave one last time to see the dragon make an elaborate gesture with his hand and a glowing portal appear out of thin air. The Doctor and the dragon had stepped through it, and they had been gone.

Had he looked up that one last time before he stepped through? She was almost certain he had. She'd felt that surge through the bond, and then, oddly, it felt as though she was still feeling it, only it was somehow...very, very much farther away. She couldn't explain it. The fact that it was still there, however, was a comfort to her as the Rishellian Chargers tore through the darkening gloom of late evening toward Raven House. Irial rode next to her, but he did not speak. She was grateful to him for his silence.

Raven House sat just outside town on a beautiful estate whose back portion adjoined a large forest. The house was a large central tower of black stone with two smaller towers and other low buildings adjoining it. A massive portcullis and drawbridge crossed a real moat fed by a partially diverted river swirling around the base of the outer walls of the structure. The keep itself dominated the landscape like a glossy monolith built on a hilltop.

When they arrived, Irial himself showed her up to her room. He took her small bag, the one the Doctor had packed, and sat it beside her bed. She turned in a circle, admiring the high-ceilinged architecture vaulting overhead.

"Does your chamber please you, Amy?"

She took in the canopied bed with its carved black wood and red velvet bedding, the flagstone floors, the high windows that during the day would let in massive amounts of light and a splendid view, the rich furnishings, and she turned back to Irial.

"How could you miss with this? It's splendid. Thank you. Really."

She noticed that his silver eyes shown with pleasure at her simple complement. She wanted to tell him thank you for helping her solve her problem with Áinfean, too, but somehow it didn't seem exactly appropriate...

His lips quirked in that way they had that always made her think he knew more than he was telling her. All he said, however, was, "I am pleased it pleases, lady. I do not often have guests here, so I apologize for the humble nature of my home."

"Irial. Trust me. This is fantastic!" _Any place that isn't the Citadel right now is heavenly..._

He bowed. "Then, if it meets your approval, I will leave you to get settled in. I have been at the Citadel for some time now, and there are matters here that require my attention rather urgently. If I might be so bold, I will call on you later to escort you down to the evening meal?"

He paused, clearly waiting on some sort of response from her.

_Good Lord, I'm in his own house, and he's asking for permission to come and talk to me? Really?_

"Sure. Sounds good."

He bowed and left the room. She looked around her again, and walked over to flop down on the bed.

_Now what?_

V.

The Doctor stumbled slightly as he stepped through the other side of the door of light the Dragon King's emissary had opened.

"That, my good fellow, is almost as bad at time travel without a capsule. No subtlety at all, is there? I mean, it's all just brute force, teleporting like that. Makes one queasy."

The dragon laughed that rasping, hissing laugh. "For you, Time Lord, perhaps, but then again, your kind always was...fragile..."

The Doctor bristled, frowned. "I'll have you know that on Gallifrey we face the Naked Schism at eight years old..."

The argument between them flickered back and forth as they walked down the narrow corridor, but suddenly it opened up into a beautiful cavern, and the Doctor's reply was cut off in mid-stream.

"Blimey," he murmured. "Would you look at that, then?"

The walls of the cavern were covered in outcroppings of crystal. They reflected light in a shimmering rainbow as they hit tiny refractions and imperfections within the stones themselves. Statues and objects made of precious metal were artfully arranged here and there, bathed in pools of illumination being channeled down from some unseen source above. Water spilled down the walls in places into pools, musical and clear. In the center of the room, though, drawing attention away from all else was a huge chair cast from a silver metal upon which sat a warrior. His garments were much the same as the emissary's, but they were of black silk shot through with silvery threads. His scales were almost the same color as the chair, but they were somehow lustrous, somehow sheened with something that made the precious metal upon which they rested look dull and flat.

The emissary walked forward to the throne and knelt in a single graceful motion. The Doctor followed behind him and stood looking at the room, the throne, and the being who sat upon it.

"Must say that I love that throne. That's trillanium, right? Fantastic. I'd love to see the mold you use to cast it, though. Mighty hard to work, is trillanium ore. Difficult to melt, almost impossible to keep liquid. Hard to find, too, for that matter, except on Dimar 2, but, of course, that planet is so close to its sun and so hot that it is, quite literally, on fire 10 months out of 12 during its year..." He smiled slightly, folded his hands behind his back and nodded. "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

All movement in the room had stopped. Every dragon and other being there was simply looking at the Doctor with something as much like shock as he could interpret on their still, alien face. The being on the throne studied him for a long moment, a clawed hand stroking at the large jewel it wore around its neck, and then boisterous laughter came bursting out of its carved silvery face.

"Ah, who else could you possibly be? Your legend proceeds you. Come, sir. I have been waiting for you for quite some time you know! Be welcome. Be welcome. I have much to tell you that you need to hear, and I fear that time for the telling is very short, even for ones such as we."

VI.

Amy wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting for "dinner," but this wasn't really it. She smoothed her hand over the black silk of the gown again, surreptitiously tugging the bodice back into place. _Damn Rishellian fashion. I'm SO glad the Doctor can't see this one, or my wolfie wouldn't just be growling... _ When the catlike servant had showed up and laid out this gown for her, she'd simply assumed that there was going to be some sort of big function of the kind she'd been to at the Citadel, and she'd allowed the servant to help her into the garment without a fuss. Her hair had been styled, and when she was ready, a knock at the door had sounded to reveal Irial waiting to escort her downstairs.

Now, though, she sat at a table for two in front of a roaring fire with _only_ Irial. She tried not to feel odd. It wasn't working terribly well. She took a sip from the elaborate pottery goblet in front of her, and she took another stab at conversation. So far, all their attempts at conversation had stuttered and died. Her nerves were becoming increasingly strained. Finally, she abandoned all other pretense.

"So, um, where _is _everyone else?" _Because this is a little too intimate for me, to be honest..._

He smiled that enigmatic smile and poured more water for her from the flagon on the table. He had sent the servants away after they had put the food on the table. "You have concerns of my intentions, milady? Fears that I intend to ravish you here on the table between the main course and the pastries?"

She blushed slightly. _I swear, sometimes, it's just uncanny. _"Should I?"

He raised those old-coin eyes to hers for a long moment before he answered, and finally he laughed softly. "Nay, lady. Remember what I told you as we danced. I lack both the talent of my kinsmen at petty seductions and the interest in such useless games. It was not for that purpose that I invited you to my home."

She laughed, something in her relaxing at last. "Useless games? Well, don't you know how to make a girl feel pretty?"

He grinned, and he reached across the small table to lift her hand to his lips briefly. With that gesture, she suddenly felt the tension between them uncoiling, dissipating. "You see what I mean about my lack of talent. No one looking at you tonight in that gown could consider you anything but the most worthwhile of pursuits, I assure you."

"Thaaat's better. Now, tell me more about this house..."

The rest of their meal passed in pleasant conversation. She completely forgot the question that had flickered briefly, importantly, crucially in her mind... _Why did you invite me here at all, Irial?_

VII.

After the meal, Irial took Amelia on a short tour of part of the house as he led her back to her chambers, her small hand resting lightly on his arm. As they walked, she asked him questions about objects they passed. He noted the questioning glances he received from the other High Lords who had accompanied him back to Raven House whenever he and Amy happened to encounter them as they wandered through the house. They scanned her attire, noted the color he had chosen for her, the black that none but he and those sworn to the Raven House ever wore here on Rishell, and their finely arched brows climbed high. They noted her hand on his arm, the smile on his face, and their curiosity increased. When he shot them level, quelling glances, however, reminding them who ruled here, they made small nods or gestures of obedience and slipped away or went back to whatever it was that they were doing. He was sure that Amy did not notice. _It was not their business what he was doing with her..._

When they arrived at her door, he bowed her back inside, bidding her goodnight and peaceful rest, silver eyes taking in the soft smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. There was none of the nervousness, none of the fear he'd seen when she'd first realized they were dining alone left in her expression. Her mood was playful, relaxed, friendly.

When her door closed, he stood outside for a few moments more, his fingertips resting against the wood. He slowly traced a symbol with his index finger against the smooth surface, a complex rune, elaborate there, a tiny frown appearing for a moment, and then he turned and walked away.

He needed to think, and he went instinctively to the place where no one would bother him. His steps took him to a set of stairs that spiraled upward, higher and higher, until a large portal opened to the roof. He walked out on the battlements into the bright moonlight. The cool night wind swirled around him as he rested his hands against the black stone. For a long time, he listened to the sounds of nature around him, the distant sounds of Raven House below settling into its night-time routine as he tried to sift through the complex nature of what he was feeling.

His sensitive hearing picked up and identified the approaching individual easily, but Irial chose to ignore him until the other's voice spoke from just behind him. He knew what was coming, did not want to hear it.

"Oaths and bonds prevent it, milord. Basic common sense prevents it. What you _are, _what she _is_, what you must both _become_ prevents it." The voice was mild, gentle, non-accusatory, completely matter-of-fact. It could have been discussing a weather report, an item from a long-lost history text.

Irial still did not turn to look at the High Lord who now stood beside him. The shorter, blond Rishellian did not seem to take it as an affront. He simply stood in a posture that mimicked Irial's.

"After all of it, after so many generations of rebuilding, of waiting, will you be the one who lets this opportunity slip away?"

Irial's fingers flexed against the stone, and he suddenly pushed away, walked across the tower top with a few furious strides. The other High Lord did not follow. He simply continued to look out at the darkened landscape.

"You know what we try to achieve, what we seek to regain, what ancient wrong we seek to right. You above all others understand how delicate the balance is upon which everything is resting at this moment. All that has been worked for can now be plucked like a ripe fruit from a tree...if you stand firm, milord."

Irial turned sharply, silver eyes glittering in the pale light. His face was full of direct menace. Had Amy seen him now, she would not have recognized him at all.

"You do not need to worry about _my_ resolution, Aelfric." His voice was hollow, full of dark fire, all the music drained out of it. A shadow darkened the top of the tower as the leading edge of a bank of clouds began to slip across the face of the moon, and his features disappeared with the light. "I know what has to be done. Intimately well, you might say." He laughed harshly. The clouds passed and once again, he was washed in silver. "I was _born_ for this, _trained_ for this, _sworn_ to this. I have given over everything, _everything_ to it." There was a choked, angry sound to that. "Do you think me made of such malleable stuff that a mere slip of a mortal girl could take me from this destiny?" His hand fell to the hilt of the silver dagger at his waist.

Aelfric knelt low, held the position. "Pardon, Raven Lord. Most humbly do I apologize. No offense was intended. If I have offended your honor, let my life pay the forfeit."

Irial looked at him, and as suddenly as it had come, the rage disappeared. "Get up. No. You are right to ask." He walked back to the battlements' edge, leaned heavily there. "If you are wondering, old friend, then others will, too. As always, your council is sound. Even though it is painful to hear, it is sound. Tonight was...an indulgence." He scanned his eyes over the view but saw nothing of it. He was, instead, seeing only what he desired and what must be, trying feverishly to figure out a way to make the two things fit together. He shook his head.

_I must accept that I can only have one of these two things, and I must choose the greater good for my people. I must do what I have always done and put my own desires aside. This chance may never come again..._

"Let's go down. There is still work to do before we begin the tests to see if the Way can be reopened."

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**And that, ladies and gents, is all for now. Guesses? Reviews? Lots o' plot here, but I had to get some stuff moving forward that's been waiting for awhile... Let me know you're still reading, please. (At least, I hope you are...)**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Hmm...somebody asked me how far apart the Doctor and Amy have to be for their mental communication to work. Well...Actually...I had a whole little scene planned concerning that...but it didn't quite make it in this time. (snicker) Other questions concerned why it's such a big deal that Amy is wearing black. Hmm. Okay. I can go ahead and work that in, just a little ahead of schedule. Here's a bonus bit, just because it feels good to be writing again.

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Plots, true or false, are necessary things, to raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. ~ John Dryden

A great artist is always before his time or behind it. ~ George Edward Moore

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I.

Amy lay watching the pattern of light and shadow racing across her floor for a long time, wishing she felt sleepy. In frustration, she flung herself over to the other side of the large bed and pulled the covers over her head, blocking out the bright moonlight. It was late, and she'd been trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep now for quite some time.

_It's no use. I miss him. I wish he were here... I wish he'd been the one sitting with me tonight at that dinner table. I wish...I wish..._

And suddenly the chasm of dreams opened under her, and she slipped off to sleep on those yearning thoughts.

II.

She was standing in the middle of a room that seemed familiar to her. There were high arching ceilings and in the hearth, a blazing fire added warmth if not much light to the room.

_How did I get here? Where am I? Wait. This...this is...this is where I ate with Irial, isn't it? How did I get back here? I thought...I thought I went upstairs to bed..._

For the most part, it was that private little dining chamber again. In the way of dreams, some things had changed, been exaggerated, were changing, fading in or out. Some details were being lost or blurred. She walked toward the table where they'd eaten, and she heard the rustle of expensive fabrics. She looked down and made a face.

_Oh Good Lord. _

Her dreamself was once again in the black Rishellian dress, the sheer gossamer overlayer revealing the corset-like bodice beneath. Was it her imagination, or was it somehow even more risque than the original had been? _I am going to fall right out of this damn thing. I know it wasn't this low cut before. And since when did this skirt have slits all the way up my thigh? _She reached down to give the bodice a firm tug when soft laughter came floating to her from a darkened corner of the room. She spun, straining to see into the shadows there.

_-No amount of adjusting that is going to help you, milady. I fear it the garment is just inadequate to its... rather delightful...task.-_

She blushed beet red. She could feel the heat of it coming up to stain her cheeks. For a moment, she was wrapped in a heavy white cableknit sweater and bulky jeans. They flashed into being, and with them she felt a burst of comfort and safety. A low whisper came from the darkness and they disappeared as suddenly as they'd arrived. More of that laughter teased her. She raised her chin, started to cross her arms across her body, thought better of it when she considered the sudden rise of her chest with the motion.

_Are you going to come out? Or are you just going to hide in the dark and laugh at me?_

_-You're right. It isn't fair that I can see...so very, very much...of you, and you can see nothing of me, is it?-_

That caressing purr of a voice was now coming from just beyond the chamber's doorway. She turned to face it, backing slowly away from that familiar, somehow seductive tone.

Sliding out of the shadow as if he was somehow being formed from it stepped Irial. She started, hand flying up to the low neckline of the gown again, uneasily.

_-Ah. Not who you were expecting, perhaps?- _His laugh was low, soft, velvet and moonlight and the rustle of soft feathers settling. -_No. Clearly not.- _He moved into the room with a graceful stride she could only call a _stalk_, and he took up a goblet from the table, poured a shimmering golden liquid from the fragile-looking glass beaker that appeared as he reached down a black-gloved hand for it.

_Irial, what is this place? What am I doing here? What are you doing here?_

He sipped, eyes sliding shut as he seemed to savor for a moment, then he poured another cup and held it out to her. She looked at him, unmoving. _There is something wrong about this. What is it? What is..._

_-Come, Lady Amelia. I am your friend, am I not? Have I done anything to deserve the suspicion with which you are looking at me now?- _ His tone was reasonable, coaxing, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that... He whispered something softly, and just like that, the little voice inside her that was screaming at her to run, to get away, became so soft that she could barely hear it.

He tilted his head gently, his hand still holding the cup out in invitation. There was something about his eyes as she looked into them... She _did_ trust him...didn't she? He _had _been a good friend to her...hadn't he?

She smiled a little uncertainly and came forward to take the cup from him. As she took it from him, he ran his fingertips across her hand gently. She looked up at him sharply, but he was turning away, back to the table to reach for his own cup. She did not see that tiny smile appear on his lips.

_It could have been an accident..._she thought to herself. But it was hard to tell. His behavior was...different...here. Less reserved. More assertive. More disconcerting... And where was here? And what was it again that they were doing? She opened her mouth to ask him those important questions when he turned back with his hand outstretched.

_-To you, Amy.- _He lifted the cup and waited.

She nodded and lifted hers when it became apparent that was what he wanted. They sipped from the cups together, and she frowned down at the golden liquid in the cup. _That tastes so familiar... what..._

_-Lady, will you dance?-_

She started to tell him that there was no music and no space for dancing, but she realized that they were now suddenly somehow on a wide rooftop bathed in moonlight. Music filled the air. Above her, stars filled the sky. It seemed as though both were somehow filling her, and suddenly, dancing seemed like the best idea anyone anywhere had every had. She slipped her hand into Irial's waiting one, and he pulled her tightly against him, his hand trailing caressingly down her back as they moved into a whirling waltz. _That...that...feels...that feels..._ His coin-silver eyes glittered as brightly as the stars as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear...

_That feels good..._ she sighed.

II.

Amy's eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp. She looked around the room frantically, clutching the bedclothes to her neck.

_Where the bloody HELL did that come from?_

Her pulse was racing, and her breath was coming fast. She felt as though she'd just run a hard sprint. Or as if she'd just...

_No. No. And NO. I'm not going down that alley. Besides. It didn't come to that. Woke up before it came to that. But Irial? Really? I mean the Doctor isn't even gone for a twenty-four full hours, and I'm fantasizing about elves? Oh God. _

She flopped back down on the pillow and pulled the other one over her face, kicking her feet in frustration. Images from the dream kept coming back to her. In fact, she kept fighting the feeling of being pulled back into sleep.

_Not going back to sleep at all tonight, if that's what's waiting. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, sure, he's good-looking, but come on! I don't think of him that way! Do I?_

In the dream, she apparently had. They'd been dancing, and then the next thing she'd known, those velvet-covered hands that had been gliding over her exposed back had been slipping around to stroke her side, had pulled her hard against him, and she hadn't fought him at all. She'd raised her mouth to his, and he'd looked into her eyes with those shining silver ones, and then he'd been kissing her as if he was trying to consume her. She shivered from the hunger she'd felt from that dream kiss.

_It...it didn't feel like a dream was the weird thing... How am I ever going to be able to look him in the eyes now? _She groaned and rolled over, face down into the bedding. _And then he was kissing his way down my neck...down to where the Doctor always..._

Guilt flooded her again. _I still don't understand why I was dreaming about Irial. At least I woke up. _

III.

Irial's eyes opened slowly. He was reluctant to relinquish the connection, but he felt her fight it and rather than force the dream to take her, he let her go.

_There will be other nights to taste that sweetness. There is time still for something for myself..._

He smiled, stretched, felt some of the burden on him lighten somewhat. _I have found a way to have her for my own despite what Aelfric and the others think. And no one will ever know. In her dreams, I can make her the Raven Lady. I can raise her on high, dress her in my black, adorn her in whatever I like... _His mind returned to the last part of their recent encounter. _Or remove her adornments. Slowly. Piece by tantalizing piece..._ He sighed, contemplating what it might be like to have her play the role of his mate, even in this surreal way.

_I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It is so simple, and she need never know it is more than a wayward dream. _

He rose, dressed, and went down the many flights of stairs to the lowest level of the Raven House. Passing down a corridor of almost identical wooden doors, he paused before the last, pulled a large key from his belt, and opened it. It slid open soundlessly to reveal a large round room.

In the center of that room was a heavy wooden chair with restraining cuffs on either arm and on the front legs. On the cracked stone floor around the chair were suspicious-looking stains. The floor itself still gleamed, wet from the bucket of water which had been used recently to sluice something down the large drain cut into the flagstones. Traces of pinkish red still lingered on the floor in the deep cracks and crannies. Water didn't wash away _everything_, after all...

He paid no attention to the chair. It was a necessary evil that he was used to. Instead, he walked slowly around the walls of the room, looking at the paintings that hung there. There were seven of them. Each was breathtakingly detailed, so finely painted that it almost seemed that the grass rippled, the clouds moved, the raindrops fell. He paused before one depicting a group of High Lords leading a mass of chained cat-people across a grassy plain. The High Lords held two torches aloft. Irial nodded slowly and moved on to the next painting. There nothing but wind and sea were visible. He had moved to the third when Aelfric entered the room.

"I take it the reconnaissance team got in from the water world last night?"

Aelfric nodded. "Very early this morning, actually. There was no reason to awaken you. They came through with no problems."

"And the chair? Did it require the full amount?" He asked it casually, but neither of them missed the tension in him.

Aelfric's voice was quiet. "It did. Yes. We tried only using a drop or two at first, but ultimately we had to spill the entire blood key to get the Way opened." He was silent for a moment. Both of them were thinking of the world represented by that third painting.

"They brought back three new species for you to evaluate for fitness. There might be something exotic that will sell in the slave markets, maybe even something for the games. Nothing they think might open a new Way, though. That place is looking more and more like a dead-end."

Irial nodded, still staring at the third painting. It depicted a world with blue skies and green plains. In the distance were visible hills or mountains. It was hard to tell. Everything was verdant and lovely.

"Do you really think her blood will open it? We've been disappointed so often before..."

Irial ran a fingertip over the frame, gently.

"I think..." he sighed heavily. "I think that we'll have to find out. I think we haven't had any _true_ Earth blood on this planet since the Rebellion closed that Way and the last of the blood keys we were keeping for that purpose committed suicide together to prevent us from getting back to the Master Hub while the rebels on Earth closed every other gate from there. I think not having the true line of her blood is the missing piece that has been keeping us out. Look at what we've been able to do so far," he said, gesturing at the other paintings. "We've retaken or reestablished right-of-passage or control on those worlds because we still had pure enough bloodlines here on Rishell once the old learning was rediscovered. Now, with Amy Pond in our hands, we can re-open the most important Way of them all and retake Earth."

Aelfric nodded. "And from the Master Hub there, we can reopen all the rest of them, ending the blood keys forever. Way will lead on to Way, and our great Empire will be again what once it was when the Raven Lord was the Raven King."

Irial shook his head. "You know that's not why I'm doing this."

"You don't mean to give all of this to Áinfean. Surely." Aelfric's voice was full of scorn for the Empress of Rishell.

Irial walked away, back to the painting of the blue-skied Earth that fascinated him so much. "I don't know," he said softly. "She grows worse with every passing year. She...she...pursues only what pleasures her. She has no care of her people, no care for anything that does not bring _her_ power or euphoria."

Aelfric placed his hand on Irial's shoulder. "Which is why you must rule it, milord. It was always to be you. You have always known it. There must be a Raven King again. The time of the Empress is done."

Irial said nothing, only continued to look at the painting in front of him, his mind swirling.

IV.

The Doctor sat in a much smaller cave-like chamber sipping a cup of tea. Across from him, the Dragon King also had his silvery hands wrapped around a handless tea cup. The two of them had been talking for quite some time.

"So you just packed all this stuff up in a bag and marched right out of Áinfean's castle with it?"

"Actually, I had one of her own porters carry it out for me. I thought, why not use all the resources she put at my disposal?"

The Dragon King roared with laughter. "Ah, Doctor. Would that I could but see her face when she realizes that you've brought all her pretty little odds and ends to me..." He ran a possessive finger over the silver candelabrum.

"Well, I know they're just trinkets, really. I mean if you have trillanium, this isn't anything, but I hoped it would sort of be one of those situations where the thought counted."

"Oh, yes, indeed, Doctor. Oh, yes, indeed. My kind values protocol very highly. As I'm sure you know." Amusement glowed in his eyes.

The Doctor sipped from his teacup, bowed slightly, tried to hide his irritation. _Yes. I know. That's why I've been playing Nice Social Doctor instead of demanding to know what the bloody hell was so important that you dragged me away from my mate and made me leave her in the lurch like this... Because if you make the nice dragon mad, you either wind up as a shiskabob or you don't get what you need, and neither option sounds fun just now..._

The Dragon King set down his teacup and snapped his fingers. A much smaller dragon of a color somewhere between green and blue slipped forward and placed a painting on the table leaning against the wall before it withdrew to a discrete distance. The Dragon King poured himself another cup of hot tea, picked up his cup and sniffed the rising steam with a pleased sigh.

"Do you know what that is, Doctor?"

The Doctor looked at the painting with mild curiosity. He hadn't really wanted to come to an art exhibition...

"No. I'm afraid I don't."

"Look at it again. Have you never seen its like anywhere?"

Frustration was welling up in a dangerous way. He glanced over at the painting again, and this time, something caught his eye.

_That detail. I've seen paintings like that before... Think, Doctor, think...where did you see that style of painting before?_

He leaned closer to the little portrait, extending his finger to the canvas, and a cool breeze blew across his hand. He pulled it back quickly, almost upsetting his tea. The Dragon Lord snickered.

"Remember it now?"

"Great Rasillon. I've been bat-blind. It's a portal."

"Oh yes."

"It's a gate, a gate to one of the great Ways masquerading as art."

"Just so."

"And that silly tart Áinfean is sitting on an entire gallery full of them."

The Dragon King sipped deeply before looking the Doctor right in the eyes. "Yeeesss. Now you can see it, can't you?"

He stood up, "Oh, I've left Amy in terrible danger. If somebody in Áinfean's court has rediscovered that old technology and is trying to open those Ways and use them again, they could rip apart this world and every one that has a gate connected to it. I have to get back to the Citadel and put a stop to this at once! Can your emissary take me back?"

The Dragon King was unmoved by the Doctor's haste and panic. "Sit down, Doctor."

"What? What? Didn't you hear me? World ending? Got to stop it? Wasn't this what you called me back to tell me?"

"Oh no. This, you almost knew on your own. This is the least of your concerns at the present. Think, Doctor. There is a very major question you have yet to ask me. It is the most important question of all."

The Doctor dropped back onto his chair, lifted his tea back to his lips, and sipped. He murmured feverishly to himself. "A question...no..._the_ question that I haven't asked...biggest question...most important thing...if it concerns Ways...Ways are about going places...haven't asked...haven't asked." His expression grew certain. "Tell me then. Tell me, Dragon King. Tell me where it is they're trying to go."

The Dragon King sat perfectly still. "You know it now, don't you?"

"Earth. It has to be. There is a Master Hub on Earth. But the way is blocked. Has been for centuries. The Great Rebellion ensured that all those Ways were completely closed up in such a way that the Rishellians would never be able to use them again. And nothing can possibly open a blockage like the ones those rebels created except for..." He surged to his feet again. "Oh no. Pond...no..."

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**And review. That's all for now, folks. Did I answer any questions, or did I just raise a whole bunch more? Oopsie...**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: In honor of reaching review 450, after a brief request for an update, and thanks to inspiration from the entire season 5 running on BBCA recently, here's a new installment. Oh, how I wish the new season was up and going...

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All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. ~Elias Canetti

A dream has power to poison sleep. ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"

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I.

"I have to get back to the Citadel now," the Doctor said, pushing impatiently to his feet. "There's no time to lose. Amy..."

The Dragon King did not rise, did not move in any way except to reach for the delicate teapot. He wrapped the long, knobby, silver fingers of his hand around handle and poured himself and the Doctor both another cup of the greenish liquid. Only when that was done did he look up. The humor that usually tinged those ancient eyes was flat, gone.

"Yes. You could leave now. Run back and flail around, like that creature in the Earth proverb...what is it again? A bovine in a dish shop? Forgive me...it has been many years since I bothered with their languages, droll and colorful as they are... But if you do go back now, you will miss the main reason I called you here."

The Doctor ran an impatient hand through his hair, his never-great stock of tolerance completely exhausted by the dragon's constant delay in getting to his main point. "And just what might that _be_? Come on. We've been dancing around this now over tea for hours. Amelia's in real danger, something is threatening an entire planet full of people, maybe even more than that, and you're sitting there sipping like...like...tea will solve all the universe's problems!" He considered his own past momentarily, gestured in frustration. "And, okay, yes, a good cuppa will do a lot. Granted. But this! What are we going to do about this?"

The Dragon King smiled. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thing to see. There were too many teeth in it. "Time Lords. So rash and impulsive. Always rushing into action. I suppose such hastiness comes naturally with youth..."

The Doctor looked as though he'd been slapped. "Youth? Impulsiveness? I'll have you know that 907 is a ripe old age..."

"Then start behaving like it. Think. Who made the great Ways, Doctor?"

"What? A history lesson?" The Doctor paused, muttered, paced. "It's a mystery. There are several accounts of their origins, to be sure. Some credit the Sitrexi. Others say they were made by the Architects of the Pandarian Empire since several of the features seem to align with some of their early technologies. Several of the Time Lords, including my old teacher Borusa, always believed, though, that they..." He stopped short and turned around, wide eyed.

The Dragon King tilted his head, met his gaze. "Keep going. Did you _finally_ get there?"

"...that they were made by the great Dragons..." His voice was a whisper as he said it. The Doctor came back and sat down in the chair again, picked up the cup of tea, drained it off in one long swallow, held his cup out wordlessly. He stared at the Dragon King as he felt the warmth of the hot tea refilling the vessel in his hands. "One of the great Mysteries being unraveled right here before me today..."

Again, that flicker of a smile. "Only because there is so much to lose now. We would have been content to let the origin of the Ways lie shrouded in mystery. They were...a mistake, a first step toward the way we now travel with portals. They were sloppy and incomplete, dangerous. We would destroy them if we could, but as with so many things done in haste and carelessness... in arrogance...what we forged cannot be undone. They were made when our kind was young, proud in its strength, uncaring or unbelieving of the fact that what we made, others would use for conquest, for domination.

"And, indeed, until the rise of the Rishellian High Lords, few species could access the Ways or even find them except by our assistance. The Time Lords of Gallifrey, your people, knew of them, sensitive to the changes in warp and weft of Time and Space as they are. They felt us tunneling through. They warned us that what we were doing was not wise, but we were proud then, confident to the point of foolishness, unwilling to take counsel from anyone. We used the Ways as one would use a toll-road system, extracting the metal riches we crave from any who would pass, and we used them to build an Empire. It is no accident the legends of our kind are on almost every civilized world..."

The Dragon King's voice trailed off and he sighed. His gaze was far away, seeing something in that lost past.

"And then came the High Lords," said the Doctor softly.

"Yes. And then came the High Lords. They used their native abilities to manipulate, to steal that which had rightfully been ours. They discovered the way to punch holes into the Ways using a combination of a psychically-active memory amplifier and a DNA-link to the place they needed to go. Once they got into the system, we fought them everywhere, but they were strong and many, and we...although we are stronger than they _individually_, we have always only been few..."

"They took control of the system. You lost the Master Hubs."

The Dragon King nodded. "Even so. And so the Rishellian Empire grew and we waned on our separated worlds until we gained the ability to make portals. Some wanted to try to retake the Ways then. And possibly we could have done so.

"But we were _too_ few, most of us felt, to risk such a thing. On many of the homeworlds, we were fighting for survival from the species we had lived with for so long. Too many of us were having to relocate altogether. And, we also no longer had a taste for Empires. We had outgrown that childishness..." Again, that smile of too many teeth.

The Doctor contemplated, turning the puzzle pieces he'd been handed over in his head, fitting them together, looking for the bits that were still missing. "The paintings. Who made them, you or the High Lords?"

The Dragon King held up his arm and the voluminous sleeve fell away to reveal his hand and his forearm. He was covered in small silver scales that glinted in tiny iridescent refractions of light. His forearm itself was muscular, strong, as if he regularly wielded heavy weapons or tools. The hand at the end had five fingers like a human's hand, but all the digits were somewhat longer, ending in short claws that looked like polished stainless steel. He brought the tips of those fingers together in a graceful gesture and made a flourish like writing on the air. A stream of colors followed his fingertips. He sketched lightly in the air and an image of the TARDIS appeared, hanging in the air like a shimmering mist, gaining detail with each delicate stroke.

"Who do you think?"

"Ah. Lovely. That's...lovely. I understand why they're so different from the other things hanging in the gallery now... So... _they_ can't make any more of them?"

The Dragon King lowered his hand and the afterimage of his creation dissipated, eaten away as though a sudden sun burned away a morning vapor. "No. Although they destroyed several of their promising artists in the process, they never discovered that gift. And we have tried very hard to reclaim all the Way gates we have been able to lay our hands on."

"Do they know what the paintings _are_?"

"One of them must. We have felt the Ways open again. They walk them again, seeking to reclaim what was never rightfully theirs in the first place. However, you have walked the halls of the Gallery. You know that many of the Way gates still lie undiscovered or at least unused there."

"Do you know which one of them it is?"

"No. We have watched, but we have not seen them in the Ways. They do not tarry there. They open them with violence and pass through very quickly, like thieves in the night. They fear them yet."

"Is there a place inside the Ways we could watch them from?"

The Dragon King bowed his head in thought. He traced a pattern on the tabletop with his fingertip as though he was going through a map in his head. The Doctor couldn't help but notice that as he did so, a trail of color followed faintly behind that moving digit. _Fantastic,_ he thought, _absolutely fantastic..._

"Yeeesss. There is such a place. All the the Ways they have breached so far center around one network, around one region of worlds. It would be possible for you to hide there in that junction and follow them or simply spy."

"Excellent. Let's start getting that plan ready, then."

II.

Amy planned to spend the morning walking around the grounds of Raven House. She turned her face up to the sun, spread her arms out and felt the cool wind tease her hair around her face. It felt good to be out of the city. She inhaled deeply, imagining that she was exhaling all the darkness from the dreams of the night before that continued to linger in her mind. She'd been very relieved that Irial had not been downstairs when she'd made her way there for breakfast. Some of the other High Lords were there, one of them the unsmiling blond she frequently saw with Irial, and although they gave her long looks and courteous nods, none of them said anything to her. She'd eaten quickly and escaped outside.

Irial's estate had a curious mixture of wilderness and domestication to it. He'd told her at dinner it was very, very old, that it had been destroyed and rebuilt. As she came around a corner, she stopped short. She saw two large black stone ravens guarding the entrance to what appeared to be a hedge maze. The greenery was fragrant and lush, and the shadows inside were inviting. The wind's susuration seemed to be a chorus of voices with urgent secrets to tell her. Suddenly, Amy wanted very much to be inside that sheltering darkness.

"Haven't been in one of these since I was a child," she murmured. She approached the entrance, her booted feet crunching the stones on the pathway lightly. She had paused between the two massive figures. She laid her hand on the midnight stone of one bird's massive curving talon. _Why, it isn't cold at all! Shouldn't stone be cold on a day like today? It feels...it feels... _Her thoughts somehow spiraled away, and she ran her hand over the stone again caressingly, staring up at the face of one of the carved ravens high above her. _Wait, weren't they facing the other way? I thought they were looking out toward the house, not down toward me... S_he heard footsteps approaching. With difficulty, she tore her gaze away from the mesmerizing black birds above and glanced sharply over her shoulder to see the blond High Lord walking quickly toward her.

"Lady Amelia?"

"Um...yes?" She tucked a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. _What now?_

"I have not had the chance to be introduced to you properly, so I hope you will forgive the utter lack of protocol in my naming myself. I am Aelfric, Ravensworn. It would honor me if you would allow me to be your guide today."

Something glittered just in the corner of her vision, and she turned back to the hedge maze. She had so wanted to go inside it. There was something calling to her from in there, making promises, offering...offering something _wonderful_... She shuffled a half step toward the soft shifting darkness within. _Inside, there's something inside for me..._

"Lady?" Aelfric's voice gently broke through the haze surrounding her again. "Lord Irial will be most cross with me if he finds I have left you unattended or that you lack proper entertainment. I pray you allow me to show you the formal gardens..." She felt his fingers lightly clasp her shoulder, and with a start, she looked down. The contact made the voices from the maze stop suddenly.

"Formal gardens? Oh yes. That would be...lovely..." She felt a little dizzy, as if she'd been on a carnival ride that spun too fast. She allowed him to lead her away, leaning on the arm he offered just a little. She did not notice that both the stone ravens once again sedately faced the house.

III.

"She would have gone into the Maze had I not stopped her! She was wandering the grounds with no one watching, no one taking care, and the Maze almost had her when I got there. Two more steps, and she'd have been past reclaiming." Aelfric's voice was full of icy fury.

Irial stared unmoved out the window at the night-darkened sky. He did not turn. Nothing in his mien betrayed his inner disgust with himself for leaving Amy alone all day in such a dangerous place. He'd lived here so long that he often forgot just how dangerous Raven House could be to the uninitiated. However, Aelfric went too far...

Shifting slightly as though merely seeking a more comfortable position as he leaned against the stone frame of the window, he turned his head. "Aelfric, becalm yourself. Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened! Nothing happened! How then will you explain her absence to her mate if she is called to the Maze again or finds the Black Well or any of the other dangers this House, by its very nature, conceals? How then will you keep our secret? The Time Lord will tear down this house stone by stone if she suffers the slightest distress that cannot be adequately explained and soothed, and yet you stand there as though it is trivial! More rides on this than you seem to remember, Irial! You never should have brought her here! If your judgment were not impaired by your..."

Irial turned sharply, hand on the silver blade at his waist, teeth bared. "You go to far! Remember to whom you speak! Remember what I have sacrificed, what I sacrifice still! I, forget? How could I ever forget?"

Aelfric fell to his knees, his already pale face ashen. "Forgive, milord. Forgive. I spoke only from my love of you, only from my wish to see all things restored." He hung his head.

Irial waved his hand tiredly, and he took up a document from the table in front of him. "Get up, Aelfric. I will not take your head for speaking the truth. You are... correct...in your concern for her care. Of course she must be be kept from harm. Tell the others tonight before you retire. Set up a rotating schedule if you must. Ensure that Lady Amelia does not stray into the...less friendly areas of the House on her own during her time with us."

Aelfric rose with that supple grace inherent to his kind and bowed before leaving the chamber. Irial watched him go. With effort, he turned his attention back to the item in his hands, but he could not focus on it. All he could think of was Amelia lost in the deceptive twists of the Maze, lost forever, Amelia hurt or injured from something he could stop, Amelia in that chair so patiently waiting for her in the basement...

"All too soon," he murmured to himself, "all too soon, the lady will be forced to encounter those less friendly areas in a way that will change all of us forever." His hand tightened around the parchment of the report he held, crumpling it.

He threw it aside and strode toward his chambers.

IV.

Amy stood in the middle of the high ceilinged room. She was wearing the black dress again, but this time, she didn't fiddle with it or adjust it. It felt natural. She was waiting on someone. There was supposed to be someone else here in this place with her. She just kept herself from tapping her foot impatiently when she heard, whisper quiet, the sound of a footstep on the marble floor. She turned, her smile parting her lips, lighting her eyes.

_There he is. _

Irial swept her into his arms as she came forward. His hands pulled her close to him, clutched her tightly. The music began, and he buried his face in the fall of her hair, twirling her around and around. Her laughter echoed off the arching roof high above as they spun.

V.

The Doctor was cold and tired as he climbed back through the glowing portal. He had been looking for any trace of the High Lords inside the abandoned Ways, something that would indicate who among them might be trying to activate the painting gates again. It had been a largely fruitless and exceedingly frustrating endeavor. There had been signs of recent passage, disturbances in the ancient corridors, but nothing he could pin down or follow.

The corridors themselves made for a thoroughly disquieting atmosphere. The walls, though solid to the touch, were a swirling grey like smoke made solid, cored out of the living fabric of space and time as they were, and the _wrongness_ of them pounded against his head until he felt something like a massive headache forming, or at least something as much like a headache as he was capable of having.

_Give me my TARDIS any day over these blasted things. They're just terrible. _

He could feel the icy damp of the Ways clinging to him as though he were coated in it. _I need to sit in a hot bath until all this comes off me and then to sleep for a week. _He sat down on the edge of the bed in the chamber he'd been provided heavily and pondered the laces on his boots in weary confusion. The heat from the roaring fire in the huge carved stone fireplace behind him felt wonderful after hours spent in that silent dull chill. _Have to go talk to his Lordship before I can do any of that, though, let him know it was all for nothing tonight, see if he can get someone in to watch for awhile. I have to have a little break..._

That was the last thought that passed through his mind before fatigue overwhelmed him.

VI.

He was walking through the comfortable antechamber of his dreaming mind, thoroughly warm once again, the last of the chill of the Ways left behind him. He had come here for something specific. He looked around the room, considered the door that would lead him back to the peaceful refuge of red grasses and orange skies, and although it was tempting, he dismissed it. That wasn't what he'd come here for. And truly, it wasn't the sanctuary he longed for. His gaze skipped over the dark door where the horror hid quickly to fix on the blue TARDIS doors that would lead him to the place that would give him truest peace. With the flicker of thought, he was standing with his hand on the latch. With a sigh and a smile of anticipation on his lips, he slipped the TARDIS key from his pocket into the lock, opened the door and stepped in...

VII.

The Doctor found himself in the shadowy alcove of a room he did not recognize. Everything here was _old_, changing subtly, and some of it, he felt disturbingly, was somehow alive, watching him, knew he was there.

_Not possible. This is Amy's mind, Amy's dream... What is this?_

He became aware of music, soft, insidious music, and his heart tightened in his chest.

_No. _

He knew those notes, knew those cadences. It was Rishellian, music of the race that had given birth to the legend of the enchanting pipers... And there was seduction in those strains. He could translate their song, could unravel their mysteries as they trailed their too-silky sonic caresses over him.

_Have to see, have to get closer..._

He slid from the darkness toward the flickering light, obscuring himself behind a large pillar. As he did so, he began to see motion in the large open chamber before him, began to hear laughter. Familiar laughter. Delighted laughter.

_Amelia..._ Everything inside him wound itself tighter in fear.

And then he saw them.

VIII.

Irial held her close, pressed her body to his, had her bent back over his arm as they spun. Her red hair fanned out, her eyes were closed, and she was laughing. She was a study in color contrasts in the black Rishellian gown, its stark color against her pale skin drawing attention to the amount of her creamy skin it left uncovered or teasingly revealed as she moved. Her hands rested in total relaxation and trust against the High Lord's chest and shoulders, lightly holding on as he turned her around and around. No one could mistake the expression on Irial's face for anything but possession as he looked down at her, as his hands gripped her firmly, fingers gently shifting in the lightest of caresses.

It was something beyond just dancing. It was nothing less than a prelude between lovers, a form of love in itself, and every fiber of the Doctor's being responded to it. He felt his teeth bare, his hands clench, and he had to force himself to remember that the best course of action was not to charge out of the darkness and destroy.

He knew immediately that this was no fantasy spun by Amy's mind, knew that somehow Irial was there, that he had intruded here inside Amy's mind. It enraged him almost past the point of tolerance that someone would dare to invade the sanctity of his mate's mind, and his hand itched to create a tool of vengeance, to strike down the interloper, to make safe again that which was _His. _In the darkness that shrouded him, a sword flickered into being in his clenched hand, wicked, blade called together from the shadows of the air, from the shadows of his soul...

Not for nothing was he a Time Lord, and among them strong, well-trained, even if he had long ago chosen to turn his back on the Prydonian Academy, the High Council, even the office of Lord President... Reason reasserted itself through baser instincts, and he forced his hand to open. The sword he'd summoned became less distinct until it was gone by the time he flexed his fingers.

_Watch. There is something important here. You need to pay attention, or you'll miss it..._

And so with the wolf inside him howling, the Doctor stayed in the darkness and watched as Irial whirled the woman he loved around the shifting ballroom floor.

IX.

She was so happy. She felt so safe. As long as she was here, in his arms, then everything was okay. She'd never known a place of refuge like this, a place of such perfect peace...

_-sudden memory of red grass and orange skies and silver-leaved trees -_

She missed a step of the dance, her eyes flying open. Irial looked down, a tiny indulgent smile on his face. No trace of concern clouded those coin-silver eyes. As she searched them for some sign of what had made her so distressed, she felt his hands circle gently, supportively, reassuringly, against her again, and she felt her eyelashes flutter, felt herself yielding again to his the power of his will as he led in the dance.

Because as long as he led, everything was right, everything was good. She could trust him as she had trusted no other...

_- green eyes in an angular and beloved face, filled with despair and anguish –_

Again, she stumbled, this time far more profoundly, wrenching her ankle despite the strong hands that supported her. Those hands caught at her again, gentle but firm.

"Amy? What is it? Come, let us resume the dance. A misstep matters not." His rich voice was indulgent, beautiful, enticing.

_But wrong. Somehow wrong. This is not the voice I want to hear. This is not the right voice, this is not His voice..._

She took a step away from Irial, then another. The music continued to swirl around her, continued to demand that she rejoin him, pulling at the corners of her mind like insistent little fingers tugging at her skirt, her elbows. She ignored it.

_No. I will not. This is not...is not..._

She shook her head slightly, biting her bottom lip as she walked over to the fireplace, rested her hand on the mantel. Irial did not follow her.

"Lady, if you will dance no more tonight, I must leave you. Are you sure you wish me gone?" She did not see the little gesture he made with his elegant hand, could not hear the whisper he made almost under his breath, but from the darkness beyond the pillars, another who watched did...

She did not turn, but a sudden well of confusion blossomed inside her. Did she? He was only being nice to her, wasn't he? Was only trying to make her happy, wasn't he? She heard his booted step on the floor as he turned to go.

"Irial," she said, indecision in her voice as she turned sharply away from the fireplace, crossing the distance between them, "Irial..." She didn't know how to finish that sentence. She simply stood staring at him. Only a pace or so separated them now.

He reached behind him to a table that had suddenly appeared, and handed her a glass of golden wine, took one for himself. She took it absently, stared down into it for a moment swirling it in the the goblet as though mesmerized, then she drank deeply, and he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. He sipped from his own glass, took both, sat them aside. He gently slipped his fingers around her hand where it had fallen to twisting in her skirts, lifted it lightly to his lips.

"I ask no more than to give you happiness, Lady."

As the stars hidden inside the golden wine exploded inside her, he pulled her unresisting form back into the dance with the softest of tugs.

X.

The Doctor watched Irial dance with Amy for what seemed like an eternity. He was aware of the passage of real time, of course, and he knew that hours were passing as the High Lord caressed his mate, coaxed her, seduced her, touched her in ways that were worth killing over. The Doctor felt as though he was carved from ice, detached from everything he was seeing. He had watched Amy almost awaken from whatever control it was the Irial was using on her briefly twice during these hours, and he'd almost stepped forward the first time, but then he'd watched Irial closely, watched the Rishellian reassert his control, draw Amy back in. He saw the golden wine Irial plied Amy with and cursed again the decision to come to this world.

_His mind is very strong, but then the Rishellians always were a mentally able race. However, he shouldn't be able to do this to the bondmate of a Time Lord. Especially not with that fortress she's got in her head. He's got to have something pretty fancy going on, something boosting him outside that's allowing him to just waltz in here, literally as it were, and lay claim to her like he's lord of all he surveys. _

He looked at the two of them chatting and dancing, and the jealousy inside him gnashed its teeth again, pulled hard against its chain to break through the clinical detachment that held it in check.

_At least all they're doing is dancing. Whatever else he may be, he's not tried anything else other than that, I suppose. And, even though his invasion of her mind is heinous, at least he hasn't..._

At that moment, Irial turned his head and lightly, lightly brushed his lips along Amelia's cheek.

XI.

Amy had been laughing at something Irial said, but when she felt that light touch, she blushed bright, and pulled away slightly. He held her firmly, refusing to let go until she stopped all motion and simply stood with her eyes cast down.

"Irial..." Her voice was soft, firm, negative.

"Amelia..." His was entreating, and he lowered his head again dipping down as if he would capture her lips.

She turned her head, and he settled for a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She was as still in his arms as if he was caressing marble. He pulled her hard against him, looked down at her with bright eyes.

"I would destroy and remake this world for you, Amy. I am going to make you the Raven Queen. No matter what Aelfric says, I will raise you up, not destroy you, and you shall be a thing not seen in a thousand years/ I will set you on high and make this world and a hundred others bow at your feet. Lady, you are becoming my world, and I swear to shape all others around you... Will you not grant me the favor of one tiny kiss?" His voice was fervent, passionate, bordering on desperate. "Will you forever make me beg or take even that smallest of comforts like a thief? Like a criminal?"

Conflicting desires warred in her. Two voices spoke, one that urged her to turn into his embrace, to open to him completely, give him all he desired, and one that screamed that to do so would be betrayal. She could not summon from that inner sense betrayal of _what_... She finally looked up at him, "Irial, I...I...I just...I...can't..." She looked down again. She was shaking.

He released her. "Nay, Lady." His voice was soft, gentle. "The hour grows late, and you no doubt have been long desirous of the peace of slumber. I will leave you now, Amy; I will leave you now, my heart." He leaned over and pressed a final kiss on her forehead. She watched him with confusion in her eyes. "Rest well. Dream no more tonight unless you dream amicably of me."

He walked to the door of the room and sank into the shadows, disappearing.

XII.

Amy continued to stand in the center of the ballroom after Irial left. Now that he was gone, she wasn't exactly sure why she was here. She felt a little dizzy, a little sick. She took two more steps, and she suddenly just collapsed, the black skirt belling out around her like a puddle of ink. She knew the slit was revealing more of her leg than was decent, and suddenly she savagely hated the dress, hated this room, hated this place, as her cheek pressed into the cold stone floor.

_Yes. Hate it. Hate this place. Hate Rishell...what did I dream? I dreamed that...that...Oh no...I dreamed of ...him again..._

She made a choking noise, crying and trying to stop it, furious, sad, confused, and so very, very tired...

_Why do I keep winding up in this horrid dress? And dancing? And why do I keep dreaming of Irial? I don't want him... I want...I want..._

*_Who do you want then, Amelia? Ask for him, and he might appear. That's the way of things here, y'know.*_

She summoned from somewhere enough energy to roll over on one side and look toward the pool of darkness at the back of the room, and there, leaning with that indolent grace that became him best studying here with unreadable eyes, was the one she'd wanted all along.

_Doctor!_

He pushed off the column and was there beside her sitting on the floor in the flickering of a thought.

_*Yes. Hello, Pond. You've been busy since I've been gone, I see.*_

He reached out and hesitantly stroked a strand of her hair out of her face, tucked it back behind her ear. She noticed that his hand was trembling. She looked up at him in worry.

_Doctor?_

He simply shook his head, a smile made of barbed wire twisting his lips. _*This is not the place to talk about it. Trust me, Amelia.*_

Her eyes slid closed and she felt her nausea increase. _I...see. So how long __**were **__you back there skulking amongst the tapestries, Polonius? _She felt a bitterness growing inside her, an anger with him, with herself, with this whole stupid situation. She didn't _want_ to be dreaming of Irial. It just kept happening...

To her everlasting amazement, the Doctor laughed, that short bark of pain and humor that was uniquely his. _*That's my girl. A little righteous fury is exactly what is called for in this situation.* _Again that trembling hand smoothed over her hair, more firmly this time, coming to rest for just a moment against her neck, brushing aside the red locks so his fingers could stroke gently just where he usually kissed her to mark his claim. His eyes were full of storms, brooding, dark, as he watched the motion of his hand against her skin.

_That long, huh? Doctor... I'm sorry...I..I don't know why I'm dreaming of Irial, or this place, I... _ It tumbled out of her in a flood of words, and she could feel the flow of tears hot as acid streaming down her face.

_Oh, I don't want to be here anymore!_ She flung her hands over her face, balling up in a protective curl.

She felt strong arms lift her, turn her, hold her close, and she blindly flung her arms around him, pulled him to her tightly, burrowing her face into the comfort of Him, of the feel of Him, the rightness of this pair of arms, the sound of two heartbeats beneath her ears, the unmistakable presence of this one, her Mate. He sighed deeply.

_*Then let's **not** be here anymore, Amelia. We've much to talk about, and morning will come all too soon. Let's go somewhere where you'll feel safer.*_

XIII.

When she opened her eyes, they were in her room in the TARDIS. She was sitting on her bed. He was leaning against the door, arms crossed, one foot back on the door itself, watching her. He waved his hand at her, smiled just a little. He seemed so odd, somehow so distant. He had been so since she'd first seen him in that other room. It disturbed her.

She realized that she felt much better. The nausea was almost completely gone. She was, however, still wearing the stupid black dress. She scowled down at it, tugging at the wayward bodice that was once again threatening to reveal much more of her than it concealed.

"I...bloody...hate...this...oooohhh..." She finally just gave up and grabbed a folded quilt off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. "There. Fine. Now. Better. And I will continue to wear this damn quilt until such time as I can figure out how to get this monstrosity off me..."

The Doctor nodded, crossed over to the bed and perched lightly on the foot.

"I considered taking us back to Gallifrey, but for the sort of conversation we're going to have to have, I thought this environment might be more reassuring, less distracting..." He trailed off, falling again into that long study of her that made her feel as though she were being weighed and somehow found wanting.

"You've got to stop that," said Amy after a moment passed of his intense scrutiny. "You've got to stop that because I can't stand it. I don't know why it happened. I'm as sorry as any person can be. I don't want Irial. I know it to the core of my soul. You're the one I want, the one I chose, Doctor, so I don't know why I'm having the dreams, and you _have_ to quit looking at me like that..."

He looked at her a long moment more and sighed, shook his head. He reached out and took her hand. "No. I'm sorry. I know I am...distant...just now. You will have to use some of that boundless patience you have with me and overlook it, I'm afraid. It's not that I doubt you. We are bonded. Properly and truly. I'd...feel it...if you didn't ...if you...if we weren't..." He stopped, stroked his thumb over her hand. "Let's just say it this way. I don't worry about you being unfaithful, okay? I'd know it most immediately and most definitively if you ever stopped caring about me."

She stared at him. "What...what do you mean?" She had the most horrible feeling that she knew...

"Bonding is a serious matter, Amelia, never done lightly. It is not possible for a Time Lord to be unfaithful. While bonded, the power of the connection means that we simply do not desire others. None other compares. If that bond is somehow broken though, the consequences are similarly powerful..." He laid their joined hands over his chest. She felt the dual heartbeat, steady, comforting.

She shuddered. "You'd...you mean you'd..."

He made no answer, only looked at her, his thumb continuing to stroke her hand softly.

"I swear I'm not dreaming of him because I want to! I don't know why I..."

He laid a finger over her lips. "_I_ know. And this is one of the parts you're not going to like, Amy. You're dreaming of Irial because _Irial_ wants you to."

She went stiff as a board, then her eyes narrowed as all the little pieces clicked into place.

XIV.

"What? What!"

"They're not dreams. Or, well, they are, I suppose, but you're not in total control of them when he's in them. He's actually there with you, just as much as I am here in this place right now."

"Well that's just wonderful then, isn't it?..." The nausea returned and her stomach rolled. "Someone else using my head as his personal playplace. I think I'm going to be sick..."

That slight smile flickered over his lips. He squeezed her hand gently. Everything he did was so gentle, so restrained. It was making her want to scream, making her want to hit him. Why wouldn't he react? Wasn't he angry? Didn't he care?

"Come on, Pond. You're made of sterner stuff than that! Come on! Brace up! We have to figure out how we can use this against him!"

"We have to what?" She all but shrieked it at him tearing her hand from his grasp. And now he wanted her to invite Irial in again willingly? _No bloody way... _

"Did I forget to mention that bit? Oh yes. That's the other tiny little fragment you're possibly not going to like so well..." Faint amusement was dancing in his eyes. She itched to slap that expression off his face...

"Kill you both. Him first and then you," she muttered "What the hell do you _mean,_ 'Use this against him?' I don't ever want it to happen again!"

"I believe Irial is the one I'm here hunting now, here in the Dragon King's palace..." and he gave her, as quickly as he could a summary of his discoveries, the Way paintings, the haunting and echoing Ways themselves, the lost empire of the Dragons, the perfidy of the High Lords of Rishell, the dangerous reopening of those forgotten passages between worlds, his own long vigil. He did not, however, say anything of his suspicions of what Irial's true purposes for her might be. He concluded by saying, "...and after hearing your new boyfriend's profession of love there at the end, I am almost positive that he's the one I'm looking for."

"Irial? Really? Do you really think he'd do something like that? You think he has it in him to destroy and enslave _worlds_? But he's always seemed so...noble..." Even as it came out of her mouth, she realized how it sounded in light of the present situation.

The Doctor stared at her a moment, that bitter barbed-wire smile appearing. "Oh, to be sure, to be sure. Noble enough to sneak into your mind like a rapist and a thief and try to coerce you into giving him what he wants... Oh yes. Very noble. Very noble, indeed. It's a fine mask he wears as he stabs you in the back...Gold lined, or maybe I should say silver to go with his tongue and his eyes..." His words were still subdued, still rational, but now for the first time Amy saw his hands curl on the comforter, fisting on the soft fabric, and she recognized that detachment for what it was.

And she took a deep, deep breath, probed delicately through the bond and confirmed what she already suspected.

_He's so very, very near the edge of control, so very near the edge of rage that he's locked it all down completely. This is all he's able to give me. That's what he meant earlier. Oh, Doctor..._

She laid a gentle hand on his forearm, felt the tension singing through him. "He...he only ever kissed me... and when he did, I always pushed him away. He always, always let me go." Her voice was a whisper.

"One night, Amy, one night very soon...he wouldn't have..."

He sat as though frozen for a moment and then, as though he could not help himself, he turned, slipped a trembling hand up to cup her face, thumb stroking over her bottom lip feather-light. "Doesn't matter that you pushed him away. When I saw him try to kiss you, put his hands on you in claim, I wanted..." He stopped, as though saying the words would lead to the actions themselves. "And then he said he would make you his Queen, his Mate? I felt that I could...Borusa would be... so proud. Never would have believed it. I don't know that my self-control has ever been tested as much as that, you see? And I did not...I did not..." He removed his hand from her, rose, paced back to the door. She could sense the beast inside him, the wolf, wounded, angry, needing, that he was fighting, straining so hard to hold back.

Something inside her stirred, something that had been wanting him, had been wanting that which was Hers, for the days he had been gone. It unfurled, responded to the dark need he fought so valiantly, the need to restake his claim, to reaffirm that his mate belonged to him alone. Now that she was listening through the bond, the depth of his need was an aphrodisiac such as she'd never known. She wanted to rip the suit from his lean body; she wanted to climb him like a cat up a tree...

She allowed the quilt she'd wrapped around her to fall away as she got up and crossed the narrow space that separated them. He did not turn, stood with both hands pressed against the door, eyes tightly shut.

"Doctor," she murmured.

"Amy," his tone was one of man in agony. "Amy, you must give me space. You must get away from me now. Even I only have so much self-control and I...right now...I'm …."

She placed one hand on his shoulder, slid the other into his hair, caressing for a moment before using it to tug lightly, to turn him. He made a growling sound of pleasure at the contact she knew well as she maneuvered him, then tried to stop her again. His eyes were tightly shut as he pressed back against the door.

"You have to leave this place, Amy. Just wish yourself elsewhere, Because I...I...want too much...and...I won't be able...to say no, to be noble, won't even be able to be kind if you don't bloody get out right now..."

"Open your eyes, Doctor." She purred it, ran her nails lightly up his chest, tracing patterns, idly. His reaction fascinated her, made her hungry.

"No. I mean it. I won't be able to stop, and I won't be able to be gentle, and I..." His palms pressed against the door so hard she was surprised they did not somehow crack the indestructible material.

"Open your _eyes_, Doctor." She skimmed her fingertips up to his neck pulled loose his bowtie with a sharp tug, ripped it away.

"No. You have to _run_, Amy. I will be okay in a day or two, but it's not safe to be with me _now_ is what I'm telling you, If you keep doing that, I'll..."

She pressed herself full against him and nipped his bottom lip hard. His eyes shot open in surprise, immediately closed again, squeezed shut like a child trying to keep out the boogeyman. The comparison in this situation made her amused.

"I know," she said in a low, conversational voice. "I know you're not safe. I know you're made of need right now, ridden by darkness." She stopped and she pressed her mouth to his again because she wanted the taste. He did not kiss her back, but his body shook from the strain of the denial. He made a low whining noise in the back of his throat as she trailed kisses up to his ear, caught the lobe between her teeth before continuing in a whisper directly against his ear.

"But what you keep forgetting, or ignoring as you choose, I'm not sure which, is that I am your Mate, Time Lord, which means that you don't scare me, ever, and most importantly..." and she slipped her fingers up to his temples, stroked boldly, watched his body arc like someone struck by lightning ". ..Don't. You. Tell. Me. To Run."

As she'd intended, her touch on that sensitive place had destroyed the last of what was restraining him, and his strong hands snaked up her body to catch her wrists as his eyes opened. They were star-shot, black edged with the tiniest rim of green, and they devoured the exposed skin of her shoulders, raked over the plunging bodice of the black Rishellian gown. As much as she hated the gown, at that moment, she understood its true purpose as she stood proudly, wishing it were gone, wishing his hands were on her instead. She pulled against his grip, wanting to touch him, wanting to remove his jacket, but his hands tightened, held her still as he looked at her a moment longer.

Then he took her.

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**Not a cliffhanger, I promise. Pie is being put in a separate chapter and is forthcoming momentarily. Separate dishes. The importance of presentation and all that, don't you know? Anyway...Don't throw things, darlings. However...if I give you a HUGE chapter like this AND pie, I better get reviews...**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Pure pie. Call it pumpkin in honor of the holiday season. If you don't like that, I'd skip this chapter. I'm encapsulating it here because the other chapter got SO long and because some folks like all plot, no pie. (and I know some of you are fans of pure dessert, too...) Oh, so very, very, very M. M+.

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**Sex relieves tension - love causes it. ~Woody Allen

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I.

He'd warned her that he would not be gentle. He'd warned her that he could not be patient, that the instincts that were riding him were dangerous, were _hungry_.

The warning had been inadequate at best.

His hands left her wrists to drag her against him as he gave in to his desire with a little groan. He spun them so she was pinned between him and the door. She gasped with the suddenness of the maneuver even though she'd seen in his eyes that the last of his reserve was gone, had known that he was about to move. He lifted her by the waist as though she weighed nothing, and she was reminded of that strength he carried hidden inside his lean frame. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he grunted in satisfaction, hips rocking gently.

_Prelude... this...this..is just the prelude...  
_

He twisted the fingers of his right hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, angling her head and studying her for just a moment before his mouth claimed hers. There was no delicate tasting, no gentle dance. He plunged his tongue in deeply, and she felt her knees go weak at the demand, the need... Through the bond, she felt the satisfaction he felt at taking her this way, the overwhelming aching need he had for her, and his fever became hers, consumed her. All that he wanted, she wanted, too.

She felt his hands trace down her, fingertips encountering the bodice of the black dress. He broke the kiss, looked down at it, bared his teeth, muttered something in that language she did not know, and suddenly her dress was gone. She barely had time to process it, because as soon as the offending garment had disappeared, he had shifted her slightly higher so he could take the peak of one breast deep into his mouth with no other prelude at all. She arched back, pinned between his mouth and the door, hands coming up to grasp at his head, his shoulders, hold him to her as he laved her, suckled her.

She cried out as she felt the harsh nip of his teeth, and she pulled at his hair. He made a savage sound against her, soothing his aggression with his tongue as he hitched his hips insistently against her. Her nails dug into tweed. She would have preferred that they had left marks in the pale loveliness of his shoulders...

_Why clothes? Your clothes? Why? _She thought at him frantically, brokenly. She wanted him, wanted him now, damnit...

And the offending garments were gone. And his hands were hard, spread across her derrière to position her, and he slid slickly against her, was inside her as suddenly as that. They cried out together at the feeling of being rejoined, their eyes meeting, each unable to look away from what they could see growing in the other's. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she'd wanted moments earlier, marking him, and the smile she gave him was fierce, dangerous, provoking. He bucked in response, and she made a noise of approval. His hands on her hips held her steady as he began to drive into her. His thrusts were deep, frantic, furious, slamming her back against the door, and this furor only spurred her on. In moments, she felt her body tightening around his, and she screamed as the climax hit her.

She heard him speaking again, saying again something she could not understand, and he turned her away from the door, still embedded deeply inside her as he carried her to the bed, laid her down, and resumed the rhythm of his thrusts, pulling first one leg and then the other over his shoulders. "Deeper," he muttered, kissing her as though to demonstrate. "More, want...want..._everything_...going to make you..." and his words became Gallifreyan again, his hips pounding her, his fingers twining with hers to hold hers down to the bed. He dropped his mouth to her neck and she felt his lips press against that place that seemed to hunger for his claim. She rolled her head to the side, but he did not mark her. Instead, he suddenly slipped a finger between them and unerringly found the swollen bud of her. He brought his mouth back to hers to drink in her cries with feasting kisses as he continued to drive into her with those hard, ceaseless strokes and lazily circle and slide across that slick button with his wicked fingertips until the orgasm came over her so hard that she simply did not know where she was for long moments.

Pleasure brought her back, a long hot stroke of his cat-velvet tongue on her over-sensitive flesh. She moaned weakly, hips arching, and he growled, hands sliding down her thighs to shove her legs wider apart as he buried his face where she was wet, swollen. "Mine," he murmured against her. He was relentless, would not be deterred, and when she tried to pull him away from her because the sensation was becoming too much, she understood for the first time what he'd meant... _"I want too much..." _

Wave after wave of pleasure so intense it undid her as he flickered his tongue over the sensitive little nub he had drawn between his lips... She'd managed to reach down, press her fingers against his temples as the climax had hit her, had felt his body shudder in return... _Something for what's Mine..._ she'd thought and felt him lightly nip her thigh...

_*Want what's Yours? Have it, then... Or are you all mouth and trousers, Pond?* _

And he'd turned on the bed, cat-lithe, cat-nimble, rolled so that she now straddled his face, stared down at the temptation of what was Hers. She could feel the paralyzing satin sin of that tongue flickering between her thighs again, rocked her hips in helpless response, and reached out a bold hand to trace it down the line of his jutting erection.

_Well, I guess...I guess I'm all mouth...you're going to have to supply the trousers bit..._ and she bent down to illustrate her point...

Then, later, unbearable delight electrifying and destroying her as he slipped first one, then another finger inside her, mesmerized as he lay beside her watching her body tighten around the digits he so skillfully manipulated her with as his thumb slowly, slowly ground against that swollen bundle of nerves, taking her to peak and keeping her there, endlessly, with the tiniest changes of his motion... "Just to hear you screaming my name, Amelia, just to hear you...screaming...my...name...," he'd whispered, hot rush of seduction against her ear before he'd sucked the lobe between his lips, tugged it lightly. And how she'd screamed for him, oh how she'd screamed...

And then before she'd even had time to recover, he'd rolled her over face-down onto the bedding, pulling her hips up to meet his own as he knelt behind her. _Oh yes...he warned me...he said that he wanted too much and that...that..he wouldn't be able to stop... _He slid over her once, paused just there at the opening, and drove into her in a hard, fast sudden stroke that took her breath away entirely. She moaned at the feeling of being connected to him again, rolled her face into the pillows, fingers grasping at the remaining bedclothes as she groaned, feeling his desire firing hers through their bond. _But do I care? No...I do not..._

She had reached a place where everything was pleasure, where every gesture was laced with those strands of starfire that he alone seemed to weave. She came again, felt him pulling her upright, felt her back encounter the warm expanse of his chest as his hands cupped her breasts, felt his hips continuing to rock beneath her own. There was an urgency now in his thrusts that had not been there before, and she recognized this position from the night in the little hidden room before the fire, that other night when their combined need had been insatiable. She reached up behind her, wrapped her arms around his neck and felt the desire that had been driving him all night begin to crest at last.

_So good...it's so good we may not survive it...I don't know what it is about this that he prefers, but...but..._

One of his clever hands slipped down between their joined bodies, found the place to intensify pleasure...

_...ah...but...I'm not...complaining..._

She felt him bury his face in her neck, rolled her head to the side.

_Please... Please... _Somehow, no matter how much he touched her, it wasn't going to be enough, it was going to be hollow without this...

He nuzzled, pressed a closed mouthed kiss there, and she shuddered. They were both so close... Then, suddenly, he opened his mouth, and she felt him mark her even as his other arm slipped up and around her waist to hold her as his hips broke rhythm, hitched hard against her.

_*Mine. Amelia. Beloved. Bondmate.* **"**_**Mine!"**

His hoarse shout mixed with her keening cry. They collapsed on the destroyed bedding, and he pulled her tightly into his arms.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Merry Christmas, my dears. I hope everyone watched the Christmas special. Pure wonder, but, as a good DW episode should, it left teasing hints of what's to come. Bring on the new season! **

**In the meantime, here's a dose of the story. I wrapped it pretty and everything. I hope it's what you wanted...

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**

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

~George Carlin, Brain Droppings, 1997

There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery.

~Joseph Conrad

* * *

I.

Because they were not in really in the wreck of her bedding in the TARDIS, because their bodies were not really lying tumbled and intertwined, because they were not really touching in any way other than the deep connection of her mind and his clinging to one another through their bond, it took only the flickering of desire to remove them from that place to the ruddy twilight of the Gallifreyan hillside.

Still in his arms, she opened her eyes and noticed the change as a breeze rustled the silver leaves softly. He was looking down at her intently and she had the feeling that he'd been doing so for awhile, something hungry and yearning in his eyes that barely managed to hide itself when hers met them, and he reached out to stroke an errant strand of hair from her forehead with just the tip of his finger. For a moment, she simply stared back at him, tuning in to the flow of emotions coming to her through the bond. There was a peacefulness like the waters of a broad river on a summer day, smooth and calm. That was his being with her here in this place again. There was, as his finger brushed her temple, incredibly considering everything they'd done to and had of each other, the static charge/tiger purr of lust. And then, there it was again as his gaze slipped away from hers, followed the path of his hand down to her neck, something acrid, something bitter and discordant, the scent of something scorching, burning...worry.

_No. Don't go there, wherever that is. We have so little time before...before..._

With effort, she pushed Irial, the Raven House, Dragons and High Lords, all of it from her mind. She smiled a little, just the faintest upturning of the corners of her lips. "Okay. So. You could get us from point A to point B. You could even manage to bring the blanket. But not one wee scrap of clothing for either of us? That part was too much trouble?"

He came back to her from wherever it was that his thoughts had been walking, and he sighed, something like his own little grin appearing. "Just never satisfied, are you, Pond? No matter what I do, you always want more... Take you to the TARDIS, magically transport you to another world, and do I get any thanks? Not a word. Right spoiled you've gotten..."

"Oi, I think you've just had ample proof that I _can_ be satisfied, thank you very much. _You_ just have to put a little effort into it, mister." She poked him lightly in the chest with her index finger to punctuate her statement.

She felt/heard the purr deepen, and he caught her wrist, speculatively eyed her mouth. "A _little_ effort, you say, madam... Is that all you need?" He brought her captured hand up to his lips, giving her a courtly kiss to the back of her hand, then turned it over to nuzzle softly against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, sliding his fingers around to lace through her own as his lips grazed her. "Are you so sure a ..._little_ effort...will do, then?" His tone was musing, and as he spoke, he leaned down, close enough for her to feel the wash of his breath across her lips.

And he gently brushed his mouth against hers. Once. And he paused. Then he did it again, that same soft, undemanding press. Again. Then he sucked her bottom lip softly and a shiver shot through her. He released her fingers, and she slid her hands up his chest, looped her arms around his neck. _Want. Want him. Want this. Again. So help me, again... _She made a helpless little noise when he released her lip, opening her mouth, but he did not plunder, did not take. Instead, he pressed another of those gentle kisses to the corner of her mouth, another to her jaw, one to the pulse that suddenly raced just behind her ear. He smoothed the palm of one hand up her side slowly, softly, touch light, gentle, from hip to just below her breast. The thumb of that hand made delicate, maddening circles against the skin of there, and she could feel goosebumps rise, could feel her body tighten, could feel tension spiral even though he had not touched her breasts at all. She shifted, trying to find his mouth with her own, but she felt him smile as he avoided her efforts and worked his way unhurriedly down her neck, felt those unbearably delicate touches of his lips whisper over the place he usually marked with boldness.

He brought his mouth back to hers again, and now he gave her kisses, kisses designed to destroy, slow, purposeful, feeding her craving without ever satisfying it, every touch merely fuel for a fire that was already running dangerously hot. Her urgency did not seem to translate to him at all as she felt his tongue slip out to touch hers teasingly, disappear. He did not devour. He sipped, he tasted, he tantalized.

The tip of his index finger now trailed up her side to her collarbone and began a spiral inward to circle her peaked nipple without ever actually touching it, slow feather-light touches. She murmured and shifted against him, the fingers of one hand slipping into his hair. His husky voice rumbled at her ear. "Just a _little_ effort, then, Pond? How is that working out for you? Alright? This _really_ all you need from me?" She could feel humor mixed with pure wanting coming from him. He wasn't bothering to hide either response from her.

_Winding me up, and so proud of it...I've had about enough of this..._she thought, and she skimmed her hand down his body in one sudden, impatient motion, watched the humor evaporate from his eyes as she traced him, wrapped her hand around him. She enjoyed tremendously the little sound he made and the way his hips jerked.

"I stand corrected, Doctor," she whispered as her fingers began to move. "It appears I'm going to need you to put quite a lot more of yourself into this. Think you can...handle that?"

His eyes swept closed and fluttered back open on a wicked smile as he savored the sensation of her touch for a moment. "Oh, certainly, Ms. Pond. I assure you, it will be _absolutely_ my pleasure."

_And mine, too..._ she thought. And then she didn't think anything else for a long time.

II.

"It will be morning soon," he said, stroking his hand lightly up and down her back. The comforter was wrapped securely around them, and his eyes traced the stars in the one sky he could no longer see.

She made a little noise of frustration and denial and burrowed her face further into the curve of his neck. The corners of his lips turned up.

"No, Pond. It's no good. Time passes outside this place we make together. We can't stay here forever...tempting though it may be..." She felt his arms tighten slightly, wondered if he was aware of it.

And he wasn't the only one who wanted that safety, who was suddenly craving the affirmation of touch. Even though there was no sign of the passage of time here, she knew as well as he did that outside this place waiting for them was a very different reality. They'd gone the whole night long without talking about it. Now they would have to part soon, he back to the Dragon King's mountains, and she back to... She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face. "Right. Okay. What are we going to do about this, then? I suppose you have one of those brilliant schemes of yours up your sleeve?"

"While I take exception to the sarcasm I hear lurking about the dark corners of your voice there, I actually do have a plan. And it is absolutely imperative that you follow it to the letter, Amy, or Irial's going to know that you know, and you know that's not going to be good..."

"Why do I have the sudden sharp stabbing feeling that I'm not going to like this plan so very much?"

"Ah, well, about that. Probably. That is to say, yes. Neither of us, actually. Lots. Exponentially. But. Anyway. What you're going to have to do is sort of...play along with him a bit..."

Seeing her expression go from mistrustful to openly mutinous, he spread his fingers, fought down the beast howling inside him that wanted so badly to agree with her, and began to explain.

III.

As agreed with the Doctor, Amy resolved to put the strategy to work the next day, but Irial was nowhere to be found. He was not there when she went down to breakfast, nor could she find Aelfric. The other High Lords at the table simply told her that the two had urgent business that had taken for the day but that they should return the following evening.

Then they'd proceeded to watch her like sheepdogs with an especially dim or danger-prone flock of one.

If she'd so much as stirred toward a door toward the gardens, there'd been a High Lord clinging to her sleeve dancing attendance on her and proposing some form of entertainment. She wound up watching one of them play a musical instrument much like a harp, learned a variation on what she thought was basically a card game like one she knew back home when she was a child from another, and talked seriously with another about Earth poetry, something she was a bit embarrassed to say she didn't really know that much about. The final time she headed toward the great glass doors...

"If you need aught to amuse you, milady, Aelfric told me that you have not yet seen all of the grounds and gardens. It would be my great honor to serve as your guide, although I do not pretend to be as knowledgeable of the Raven House as Aelfric or the Raven Lord himself, of course."

The young blonde High Lord stood watching her with expectant eyes. She couldn't even remember his name.

_No. I don't want to start up with another one. Maybe this is a chance to get a nap._ She stifled a yawn. Apparently, doing what she'd been doing in her dreams lately didn't qualify as "rest," especially last night's efforts. Irial and Aelfric were gone. _Where could they possibly be?_ Yes, she'd get a little rest and see if she could slip away from her watchdogs and explore inside a bit. Maybe she could find something to tell the Doctor when they met tonight. It was a sound plan. She declined the High Lord as politely as she knew how and went back upstairs to steal what sleep she could. She had a feeling it was going to be in short supply in the near future...

IV.

"So, then, Doctor, what will you do? Will you go or stay?"

The Doctor was slumped somewhat wearily on a great red cushion that had been provided for him drinking the ubiquitous and never-ending tea that seemed to be required for every meeting with the Dragon King. He was grateful for it today and had both hands wrapped tightly around the handleless porcelain cup to absorb the heat. After leaving the world of dreams, he'd gone back into the Ways in another attempt to see if he could track the High Lords, but to no avail. Now, the chill of the Ways seemed to have crept into his bones, a certain lingering coldness that would not dissipate no matter how near to the huge fireplace he sat.

_Y'know, it's funny. Cold usually does not affect me much at all. There's something more than just temperature in that place. I think it's maybe more than the absolute mind-boggling wrongness of it all, more than the distortion of time and space. I think it's because those tunnels are laced with...with...what one might almost call an atmosphere of despair... How fanciful I'm becoming in my old age..._

"Doctor?" The Dragon King's gentle question drew him from his reverie, and he looked up from the swirl of hot liquid in his cup.

"I...don't know. There are advantages to both positions. If I stay here, I can continue to explore the Ways, try to catch them as they pass. It will be helpful to know for sure how many there are and perhaps better in many ways to deal with them there. Also, even though I'm almost positive it's Irial, I need better proof. And to know if he's the master or merely a puppet. If I show my hand too soon..."

The Dragon King nodded but said nothing for a moment. He simply gazed at the Doctor and waited.

The Doctor sighed. "But..."

"But you fear for _her_."

The Doctor raised his head and looked at the Dragon King, one eyebrow raised. "I'm that obvious, am I? And here I thought my theater skills were fairly polished after all these years..."

Again that smile with too many teeth in it. "We are not so different in this aspect, Time Lord. If someone threatened my Mate..." His voice trailed off, and that elegant hand made a fist. It was immediately wreathed in a pale glow, the same glow that suddenly shining in his eyes, and there was the sense of something much, much _larger_ in the room, of something almost too large _for_ even this great cavernous space, of a form huge and serpentine, sinuous, graceful but infinitely powerful and dangerous, with great wings unfurled, almost like a vision seen in a desert mirage, shimmering for seconds only and then...gone. There was only the platinum-scaled King, mostly human-sized, perhaps somewhat taller, perhaps somehow slightly differently proportioned, perhaps with a great deal more dentition, considering his pattern of the dregs in the bottom of his teacup. He raised his eyes to the Doctor.

"We all have this in us when the one we have chosen, when the one who has chosen _us_, is in danger, Doctor. It is no mystery or surprise. I suppose we show what we really are at those times, perhaps..."

The Doctor nodded slowly, digesting both the philosophy and the biology lesson. "So the legends weren't legends at all, then."

The Dragon King laughed softly, flashing those many, many razor teeth. "Oh no. Not a bit of them. We choose to stay in this form for the most part because it's so much easier on the furniture." He picked up the delicate pot, poured another cup, settled back in seeming ease. "So what will you do?"

The Doctor thought about it. He thought about Amy, alone without him, only able to talk with him in the world of their shared dreams, at risk, if nothing else, of being chased by Irial for his own purposes even if they did not involve the Ways. He thought about the fact that she was going to try to discover the truth on her end, possibly putting herself in danger, and that she was never careful, that she could end up in trouble and he might not know in time to help her. He thought then of all that was at stake, the potential rise of the High Lord's Empire, the danger to his own bonded Mate from the shadowy threat of Irial and her possible use as a pawn in the machinery of the Ways, the independence of untold numbers of planets, possibly including Earth, that would disappear if the High Lords regained control of the Master Hubs and Ways. He sighed. He could continue to save the many by staying here and by allowing Amelia to help, or he could race to her side, protect and preserve just her, tuck her up in his pocket and keep just her safe...

"Of course I'm staying. What else can I do?" _And if anything should happen to her, if even the slightest distress should come to her... _ The wolf inside him bared sharp fangs in frustration.

The Dragon King lifted his cup in mute salute, and for a time, the only sounds either of them heard were the roaring fire and the voices of memory and obligation.

V.

Amy crept back toward the stairs praying that nobody would see her. Darkness engulfed the Raven House. There would be a full moon tonight, but it had only just begun to rise.

She'd risen after a long nap feeling refreshed, and had done some reconnoitering. Then had come dinner, that grand ordeal with her babysitters dancing around her. She'd escaped them with rather more ease than usual, and she'd noticed then that they'd all been a little distracted as though something important was about to happen. There were more High Lords than usual at the table that night, visitors she didn't know, and as she was shown back up to her room afterward, she continued to hear horses and carriages coming and going. Finally, a large group of them assembled outside and, after much laughing and merriment, they'd ridden away.

Amy decided that this was a perfect chance to get back to her exploration, and she quietly opened her bedroom door, peered down the empty hallway, and slipped out. Downstairs, she spent a brief interval looking into rooms, poking around in chambers with open doors, rummaging around in desks for clues to no avail. The rooms she most needed entry to had either been locked or occupied, and she quickly began to realize that not all the High Lords were gone after all.

She could hear several of them coming down the stairs, and she darted into a small day salon whose glass doors looked out onto the gardens. Trying to calm her racing breath, the pressed herself back into the darkness, praying she couldn't be seen. As far as she knew, nobody knew she was out of her room.

_'Course, I don't know why it would be such a huge deal for me to be out of my room, but I just have a feeling that it would be. Especially since I sort of eluded blond ElfBoy Number 2 to do it..._

The voices headed for the great front hall, and then faded altogether. She was just on the point of feeling safe when the sound of soft booted steps heading directly toward her location made her look frantically around for a new hiding place. The room offered no help. The furniture was all small and delicate, the draperies were all sheer and light. In a burst of inspiration, she headed quickly for leaded glass doors, fingers tracing down their diamond panes until they fumbled across the handles. She slipped outside, pushing the door almost closed again, and hastily scooted to one side of the door where she could peer in to see who was entering the room.

A moment later, she ducked back as light filled the chamber. One of the High Lords came in, opened a cabinet, and began to remove several large cases from within it. He laid the cases on a table and began to open them, obviously checking some sort of equipment contained inside and making small adjustments to whatever it was they held. Amy rolled her eyes.

_Great. Can't you do that somewhere else? 'Cause I really need to get back inside now, please. Okay?_

When it became obvious that whatever it was that he was doing was going to take some time, she sighed and turned to slide down the stone wall, sitting and staring out at the increasingly moon-silvered gardens.

_Y'know, if this place wasn't owned by the King of Creepy, it would almost be pretty sometimes_, she mused, looking at the play of light on the fountains, on the neatly-raked gravel paths, and on the leaves of the plants. Off to her left, something twinkled out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head against the stone wall behind her to look at it.

_What was that? Fireflies? Here? I would think that it's too cold for..._

Her eyes fixed on the two great raven statues at the entrance to the hedge maze. They seemed to have tiny sparkling lights all around them winking on and off, a thousand, thousand fireflies, a cloud of them surrounding them somehow. It was beautiful, and Amy wanted to be closer to it. _No. Need to be closer to it. Much closer to it..._

Without conscious thought, she rose from her hiding place and walked across the pale gravel toward the glowing sentinels...

VI.

Irial sat in the saddle, but he did not spur the Charger to follow the others. Instead, he was content to stay behind, letting the animal choose its own pace. His eyes scanned the sky, and he felt the moon singing through him, raising as it always did something wild, something strong inside him. He listened to the cries of the warriors with him, and the slightest of bitter smiles turned up the corners of his lips. The hounds gave cry, and the Hunt lustily responded as they charged in pursuit of their prey beneath the light of the inciting orb above.

_And I should be there with my brothers. I should be at the front of the pack, should be leading the kill, should crave the feel of the hot blood on my hands...but it no longer brings me joy. Has not for many moons now. Oh, wildness still fills my soul, but the Hunt is not the release I crave..._

His mind was filled with a sound that was the sound of a thousand rushing black wings, and the vision of tumbling red locks sliding through his fingers, of skin enticingly pale and eyes of green... _This. This is the madness the Moon calls me to now... _Ever sensitive, his Charger felt his hands tighten on the reigns and it blew a little, anxiously. He felt the presence of another, heard the soft fall of hooves on old leaves and moss, knew without turning that Aelfric had turned back to join him.

"You do not have to stay with me, brother. I know the moon calls you. Go. There is no duty you owe tonight. Be free. Hunt."

Aelfric's mount pulled even with his own as they ambled through a grove of ancient trees. Wind moved the upper canopy, and the moonlight fell in shifting pools of silver across them.

"Does not even the moon call to you anymore, Irial? Does nothing now bring you happiness?"

Irial remained silent, but in his heart...

"You cannot keep her, brother. You will destroy yourself." Aelfric sounded sad, as though he was speaking of one already dead.

_But you don't know that I already have held her, have danced with her, have tasted the sweetness of her lips! I will find a way. There must be a way. I have done what they said could not be done; I have reopened the Ways! I have reclaimed that which was lost in the Raven House! Surely...surely..._

Irial shifted in his saddle as they cleared the trees, looked full at Aelfric. The full light on him felt like pure energy being poured into him, and at that moment with the most basic of elemental forces driving him, he suddenly found it hard to believe he could ever fail at anything.

"Aelfric..." The horn of the HuntMaster suddenly sounded in the distance, followed by the primal scream of the cornered prey. It was a sound of defiance, agony, and terror. It shattered the night and then was cut off abruptly. The two Rishellians sat for a moment as though somehow tasting the sound. Anything that Irial might have been going to say before it was gone. There was now no mood for confession in the moon-drenched air. Irial gathered his reins and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "It _is_ a fine night. Come. I believe our brothers have run the first of tonight's prey to ground. Let us go and prepare the next for release."

Aelfric nodded, and they turned their horses toward the camp where the cages holding those to be hunted, unlucky servants and peasants who would soon be running from their life from the Great Hunt, who now quaked in fear beneath the impassive moon.

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**So what do YOU think happens next? Review, please...**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Several reviewers are curious about what Irial is up to out in the woods. If you're keeping score, a lot of what he (and the Rishellians in general) are doing is taken from various myths and legends about elves. The "chasing people around in the woods in the moonlight" bit you're currently reading is an adaptation of the Wild Hunt (apply your friendly neighborhood search engine if you've never heard of it). The music bit that so enchants Amy in the dreams and that the Doctor warns her of when they first arrive is a variation on elvish pipers/harpists. There are other things, too, along, but I won't go into them here. You can look for them yourself if you like. Not everything is based on myth, but I am trying to weave it in all along. There's a method to my madness, most of the time. (Of course, happy accidents do occur, and I'm grateful for those, too...) On with the show.

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**

Look how the pale queen of the silent night  
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her...  
~Charles Best, "A Sonnet of the Moon"

With finger on her solemn lip,  
Night hushed the shadowy earth.  
~Margaret Deland

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I.

Amy walked toward the cloud of tiny shimmering lights. The stones of the walk shifted and clicked under her feet, but she didn't hear the noise. Instead, she heard a soft, enticing whisper.

_Amelia. Amelia Pond. Come here. Come inside. There is something inside that you need to see, that you've always wanted. Come inside, Amelia..._

The moonlight lay a sheen of icy silver over the landscape, and the high hedges that formed the outer walls of the maze were an unbroken black barrier before her except for the wide entry. There, the light seemed to gather, pool, spill as though entreating her to step into that tiny sea of radiance. The two raven statues, wreathed as they were in their tiny circling clouds of stars, seemed to look down on her with benevolence as she hesitated there in the darkness just outside that brilliant threshold.

_Come on, Amelia. Come on in. There's so much to show you, so much to give you, and so little time. _

The voices were clearer now, a chorus that was somehow feminine and piercing in its loveliness. Still she held back...

_Are you afraid, little girl? Don't be afraid. We like you. We need you. And we are going to tell you secrets. Don't you like secrets? Aren't you looking for secrets? There are secrets in here. We will tell you all the secrets, but you have to come inside come inside come inside Amelia Pond..._

The voices were so soothing, so reassuring. Her feet were moving without her conscious volition. One step. Another. Another...

Amelia's fingertips trailed lightly over the oddly warm surface of the nearest raven statue as she stepped into the welcoming tide of whispers and light.

II.

Irial gave his horse its head on the way back to Raven House. Unable to run most of the night, the Charger was ready to exert itself, and it moved like it was a part of the wind. He leaned low over the beast's neck, something inside him exulting as it always did in the speed of the movement. Tonight, though, with the full moon making him reckless, he urged the stallion to go faster, left the rest of the hunting party behind.

_Because every falling hoof takes me closer to where I need to be..._

His brothers, the High Lords of Rishell he'd invited to join him on this moon-sodden night, now mostly had sated their inborn lunar madness with the terrible pleasures of the Hunt. They would go home to pursue other pleasures, equally intense, under the influence of the high moon. Most of those who were mated had already left the hunting group behind, their urgent need for the chase now replaced with another urgency altogether.

The Great Hunt was an outlet for their furious passions and had been from time immemorial. Tonight, Irial, as was appropriate for the host and for his position as the Raven Lord, had provided prey, finding those guilty of crimes, both servants of the Citadel and peasants from the city and the surrounding estates, and delivered them up as game. There had never been a flicker of hesitation in his actions. Such was the way of the Law of Rishell.

_It was not always thus..._

Once his people had ridden to the Hunt, wild, dangerous, killing whomever was luckless enough to be caught in the open on the nights of the high moon, taking it as their right to ride them down as a human hunter might do to a fox or a deer. There had been no thought for law, only for the joy of the chase, the pleasure of the fear and the hot blood at the end of the kill.

_Those were the days of the Empire when we were arrogant and decadent. We have moved beyond that now. _

As he had cut the cords that had bound the hands of a former chambermaid of the Citadel who had killed her lover in a fit of rage, he'd looked down at her cowering form. Her eyes refused to settle on him. She did not seem to be able to tear her gaze from the mounted pack of hunters, silent in their dark garb, from the lances they carried, steel tips glittering in the light of the moon, from the hounds that sat patiently but wild-eyed beside them...

He reached a gloved hand down and jerked her face up to force her to meet his eyes. "You know the law. You know your chance. Remain unfound until the setting of the moon, and you are reprieved."

_No one in the history of Rishell has ever done this. Nothing escapes the Hunt. But you could always be the first..._

Tears began to stream down her face, and her lips moved as though she was trying to say something. He looked at her a moment more, disgust welling up in him, and he pushed her away. He wiped his hand against his trouser leg, as though trying to remove the soil of the contact with her.

_She will deserve everything she gets. She will deserve every moment of fear, every exquisite tearing of the hounds' teeth, every wound of the lances. And though she is timid now, she will not die easily..._

He could see inside her head, and under the abject terror, he could see the pettiness and meanness of her true heart. She was not sorry for the crime she had committed. She had lain in wait for her lover, had ignored his cries for mercy, had taken her time with her "vengeance." She would have done it a thousand times. She would do it again now, strike Irial himself down where he stood if only she dared...

_Just another animal that needs to be put down. So be it._

As he moved to walk away, he felt her hand clinging to his cloak. He heard Aelfric move to punish, to kick for the presumption that she had in touching him, but he raised the slightest of fingers and half-turned to look at her as the words she had tried to form before finally forced themselves out at last.

"Mercy. I beg it of you..."

_As you gave to your lover? As you gave him as you cut him open from neck to navel because he dallied with another?_

He reached down and tugged the cloak from her grasp with one sharp, efficient motion. He walked over to a cart laden with supplies.

"You are not bound. You will be given a head start of as long as it takes the lead hunter to count to 100 before anything here pursues you."

He turned back to her at last and he tossed down a hunting knife. Its blade shone menacingly in the silver light.

"And there is that. Make whatever form of mercy you choose with what you have been given. Nothing else will be offered you."

And he had walked away from her as her hysterical shrieking sobs began in earnest. The Hunt Master had begun to count in a strong, slow, steady voice.

As the black-and-white countryside blurred around him, Irial reflected on her final moments.

_She had not ended well. Her bravado had deserted her in the end. Cornered, screaming, forgetting even that she had the knife, flailing with her bare hands as though they could stop the advancing wall of steel..._

Irial had not been one of the hunters who brought her down, but he had felt a certain satisfaction in her demise, nonetheless. _There was just something about one who could betray a lover to the death in that way that was even more distasteful than the usual rabble they used for the Hunts..._

He shifted in the saddle as the wilderness gave way to the more cultivated lands of Raven House and made a conscious effort to put the whole squalid incident from his mind. He was, after all, now where he wanted to be, where he'd yearned to be all night long. The moon still rode high in the sky, was still igniting silver fire in his blood, and soon, he'd see Amelia.

III.

The Doctor was in the tunnels again. He sat folded up in one of the curiously-carved alcoves the Dragon King told him had been for sellers of provisions once upon a time when the Empire had been at its peak and untold numbers of merchants had been moving their goods and travelers in large quantities through the Ways.

When the Dragon King had told him of this space to begin with, an unholy sparkle of glee had come into the Doctor's tired eyes.

"So...you're telling me I'm going to hide in sort of...a little shop?" The idea amused him terribly. Memories of his past, companions gone, adventures shared flickered, danced.

The Dragon King was somewhat baffled by his humor. "I...suppose one could look at it that way, yes." He sounded cautious in his affirmation.

The Doctor had thrown his head back and clapped his hands. "Fantastic. I do love a little shop, nothing like a little shop..."

Now, though, all the humor had drained out of him. He was merely cold and miserable sitting in the shadows of the space off the main Way, trying to play a mental game to pass the time and to stave off the worst of the effects of the Ways.

_Okay, so...a list of ten different places I'd rather be with Pond right now and why. Because I'm jolly well going to tell her about them next time I see her. Let's see. There are so many choices, so infinitely many places better than this that it practically boggles the old mind just trying to narrow it down to ten, but...if I had to choose...I think I'd start by going to..._

There was a sound. It was hardly worth qualifying it as a sound at all, something so faint, so tiny, so brief an auditory whisper that had it not happened in the totally silent space of the Ways, it might have been missed. He held his breath and listened. It came again.

Booted feet. A group of soft-walking individuals approaching, moving quickly.

_At last. Took you fellows long enough. _ He wanted to sigh in relief at having at last caught a group in the Ways he could follow.

A glow pierced the gloom of the Way before him, and he fought the instinctive urge to slide away from the opening. The alcove was not terribly deep, and even though he was concealed behind the stone counter, he still felt exposed.

_They can't see me from where they are. I'm safe. But if I move..._

The real danger was not being seen here. The pervasive darkness saw to that. The real danger was in being _heard_...

He continued to listen as the faint light got stronger, as the sounds of the group increased. As their noise grew greater, he shifted just enough to peek out from behind the edge of the counter. A group of some ten High Lords cloaked in black were passing. They were moving quietly but quickly. They did not look particularly disturbed to be in the Ways. None had a weapon drawn.

_So...not expecting any trouble, are we? Confident lot, you are. Hmm. Well, at least you won't be jumpy... Let's hope I still remember how to become one with the shadows like good old Hattori Hanzo showed me. It has been quite some time since those days in Mikawa, but..._

The Doctor waited until they were almost out of sight before he silently stood up and slipped out of his hiding place in pursuit.

IV.

Irial was in a state of panic. He could not find Amy _anywhere_. He wrapped his power around him and sent his mind out to hers, seeking the thoughts that had so intrigued him right from the very start, that curious mixture of alertness and humor, of innocence and perception, of openness and hidden corners that he could not penetrate. All the other minds around him, he saw. The High Lords were like welding torch flames, incandescent, blazing pure. He could read even them with ridiculous ease when he was applying his gifts like this. The human servants were fragile swirls of color, little kaleidoscopes, likely to be broken if one was not careful, shade and shape, but not much of interest. The other species in the house had their own significations and permutations, but none of them were what he so frantically sought. The one he looked for, the patterns that had enchanted him were missing. She simply _was not_.

_It is not possible. What can have happened?_

He had dismounted in the courtyard and gone straight up the stairs to her room intending to ask her to walk in the moonlight with him. He'd had no firm plans, only instincts driving him, and even though there were voices in the back of his head screaming at him that his actions were unwise, he'd shut them out, knocked firmly on her door, and...

Received no answer at all. Even when he knocked again. And again.

He'd called out to her, telling her that he was concerned for her and that he was going to open the door if she didn't open it. When there again came no response, he'd put his hand to the latch and it had swung easily in to reveal a bed unslept-in, a chamber undisturbed, fire banked for the night and burning low.

Frowning, he turned away. Had he not specifically told those who were remaining behind to keep her in her quarters tonight? It was dangerous for her to be out and about on her own, but most especially on a night of the high moon...

_But it is Amy. And she is headstrong..._

He expected at first to find her downstairs, perhaps in the library or perhaps sitting and talking with one of the High Lords who had remained at Raven House. A brief flash of annoyance flickered through him that she would have found someone she liked to sit and talk with this late into the night, but he waved it away.

As he moved from room to room and found no Amy, his confidence slipped. No one he met had seen her. No, the Lady Amelia had not come down after dinner. Yes, she had, per his instructions, been shown to her chambers and had expressed her weariness. As far as anyone knew, she was there still.

"Find her. All of you will search. Look for her now! Look everywhere! Find her, and if the slightest distress has come to her..." This was said in a tone sheathed in ice. The High Lords of Raven House scattered.

V.

The Doctor slipped along the passage behind the little band of High Lords. None of them seemed to be aware of his presence. The gentle noise of fabric rustling and leaf-soft step was more than enough to cover his own careful movement.

_As long as I pay attention to what I'm doing here, I should be fine..._

It was difficult to keep a balance of being far enough behind them to remain hidden in the darkness and close enough to them that some of their light was useful for his own eyes. He longed to bring out his sonic screwdriver, both for the illumination and for the comfort of having it in the hand.

_Not that it will really do me any good against those blades, mind you, but it's the principal of the thing, I suppose. And nobody likes the dark. I'm not afraid of the dark, mind you. It's just...too many things hide in the dark... _ He shook off memories, forced a sardonic twist to his lips. _Including me, right now, I suppose. I guess I'll take a bit of comfort in that. I'm one of the scary things in the shadows today..._

As always in the Ways, time and space seemed just a little warped. It was a bit like looking at things in a Fun House mirror or having been on a ride that spun too fast for too long and then trying to walk in a straight line. The longer he was inside the Ways, the worse it became for him. It seemed just a little harder than it should have been for him to tell how long he'd been in here, how long he'd been following this group of High Lords, how far they were journeying.

_Because these things are abomination. _He shuddered. _Just bore a big hole right through the fabric of everything. A big old hole that can be sutured closed or healed up or filled in. Sure. Right. Go ahead! No way that's a bad idea. _

The raw pulsing of the components of the universe pressed down on him momentarily despite his efforts to shield against them, and he strained to get his mental barriers back in place. Perhaps that struggle was the reason he didn't notice the High Lords stop until he'd taken two footsteps, two very loud footsteps in that tomb-silent passage, more toward them.

VI.

"My Lord, we have searched every room in the House. She is not within the keep." The young blonde elf who had been given charge of keeping Amy safe now reported this news.

Irial was coming up the stairs from the basement chambers. His fear had driven him to go down to check, just to make sure she had not found her way past the locked doors, down to...

"She cannot have simply faded into the thin air. You will continue to search. Look for anything. Any trace, any sign."

"My Lord." The High Lord bowed and darted away.

Irial leaned heavily against a large black wood console in the entry hall, his mind racing through possibilities.

_What now? Where now? Is it possible that she ran away? Or that the Doctor for some reason, that he came and took her, that they are gone, that they somehow know? The Time Lords are said to be canny, perceptive..._

The door opened and Aelfric strode in. "The entire House is in an uproar. What ails my Lord?"

Irial did not turn. "You will no doubt find it amusing. She is gone, Aelfric."

Aelfric, puzzled, walked to stand just behind Irial. "Gone milord? Who?"

"The Lady Amelia. I came home to...to...to..and she was not here. I am a fool. Even fate conspires to protect her from me..." His hand closed into a fist, pale against the dark wood.

Aelfric was very still. "You have searched the house."

Irial turned with a bitter laugh. "I know you think my brain addled, but I am not so gone that I did not think of that, Aelfric. She is not here. There is no sign of her anywhere. It is as if she never existed."

"And the grounds? Have they searched the grounds?" His tone was urgent.

"As...we speak. Why?"

Aelfric grabbed his arm. "Come."

Irial shook his hand off. "Where? Aelfric? What is it?"

Aelfric looked at him, his eyes full of regret. "The Maze, milord... "

Irial was in motion with the words, Aelfric half a step behind him.

VII.

The band of High Lords had paused before a large carved door arch. When they heard the Doctor's accidental extra footfalls, they spun and peered into the darkness. One of them turned and made a curious gesture, something like flinging a handful of air toward the noise he'd heard. As his hand moved, he murmured the liquid syllables of his language. The Doctor found himself revealed by sudden brilliance, outlined in colored lights that burned bright enough to illuminate even the high and distant ceiling. He stood with one hand slightly raised, squinting as his eyes adjusted.

_Damn._

As always, he went with the option of brazening it out.

"Oh. Hello. Fancy meeting you lot here. Fairy Fire, is it? I've heard of it, of course, but I've never seen it in use before. So this is what it looks like in real life. I'm a living neon sculpture! Fantastic! Probably won't last long, but then, I don't guess it really has to, now does it?" He grinned.

"Seize him!"

He sighed, put his hands down as the High Lords grabbed him roughly. "Oh, now how did I know that's what you were going to say. Can't _anyone_ come up with something original?"

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**As a final note, I'd just like to say thanks to jumptheshark for one of the best reviews/"what's going to happen next" write ups I've ever gotten. Who knows? All kinds of things happen. Keep looking for portals near you. :) Thanks to everyone who reads. Thanks to everyone who reviews. Happy New Year to you all.**


	37. Chapter 37

**Thought I was gone, did you? Well, yes. I have been. I've thought about coming back to this story a million times, but for reasons I won't go into here, it hasn't happened. The amazing notes I keep getting about Temptation, though, keep making me want to write more. You have all been so wonderful to tell me how much you enjoy this little effort of mine, how much you want to know what happens next. I hate that I've left you hanging so long. And so, on with the show, at least for one more episode….**

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See, the human mind is kind of like... a piñata. When it breaks open, there's a lot of surprises inside. Once you get the piñata perspective, you see that losing your mind can be a peak experience. ~Jane Wagner

Look both ways before entering the insanity. ~Terri Guillemets

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I.

Irial's running feet skidded to a halt before the entrance to the maze. The pale gravel of the path skittered away from his feet. On his face was a look of pure horror and dread. A moment later, Aelfric, too, came to a stop just behind him. Irial heard Aelfric's breathless oath, but he did not turn away from what he saw in front of him. He reached out hesitantly, traced one fingertip over the black stone feathers of one of the giant raven wings that was now completely blocking the entrance to the maze. A shock like a strong electric current seized him as he made contact with the statue, and his body arced in pain, the sensation beginning to overload his brain, a dim greyness beginning to narrow the edges of his vision. He suddenly felt a strong shove, and the connection was broken. He lay on the walk, panting, staring up at the towering black bird above him. With effort, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, waving away Aelfric as the other High Lord knelt beside him to offer assistance.

For a time, neither spoke. Aelfric rose and paced around the statues. Irial stood, pain still radiating through his body. Aelfric turned and looked at Irial, and Irial nodded solemnly. They stood gazing at the shuttered portal a moment more, and then they turned and slowly made their way back to the house.

II.

The Doctor fought against the nausea that had overtaken him as the High Lords who had captured him dragged him unceremoniously through the giant gilt frame on the wall. As he had felt the unnatural bending of time and space, all his Time Lord senses had been temporarily overwhelmed. It was as if the effects of the Ways themselves had been magnified and focused on him.

Once through the Waygate, the High Lords had tossed him into the first available support, a large chair that dominated the middle of the room. They'd something to him that he'd not been able to understand, his mind refusing to wrap around their language and make it make sense, and laughing, two of them had grabbed something bulky from the corner and carried it out of the room. There was something disturbing about the shape of the object they'd carried. He'd wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair, grateful for something solid, for something that was not shifting and tossing, and he'd tried to focus on the words, the actions of the High Lords. They were all leaving him, though, going out the huge wooden door, locking it with a great screech of rusting metal. There was now a heavy silence broken only by the sound of water dripping away somewhere nearby. Bit by bit, the world began to stop its horrid little dancing, and he took a deep breath.

_Just WRONG, those. Never should have been…never should…_

As the world came back to him, his senses returned and he became aware of the wetness of the arms of the chair under his palms. His hands arched up in instinctive avoidance, fingertips only touching the sodden wood now. Lightly, he stroked the surface, and another wave of revulsion washed over him.

_No. Oh no. This…this…THING is…was…has been used to…._

Almost against his own will, his hand flattened against the wood again, and the full horror of it came to him, the soundless screams of a hundred, no…a thousand beings in pain as their very selves were sucked out, casually used as a one-time picklock before being sent into oblivion. He shuddered as their faces burned themselves into his brain, one more dark work of art in the mental gallery of terrors he already possessed. His mind suddenly understood the thing the Rishellians had removed from the room was the latest victim of this object upon which he now sat. With effort, he flung himself forward to land face-down on the cold stone floor. Here, too, there was that awful wetness, the tang of blood stronger here. He rolled weakly to his side, opened his blurry eyes a moment, and saw again the terrible chair, shining pink-tinged drops of water slowly tracing down it towards the drain in the floor where he now lay. Then his eyes closed again, and for a time there was only blessed nothing.

III.

Amelia had no idea how long she had been walking. The maze flowed on before her without end, and there was something terribly comforting about the high green walls and the cleanness of the path before her. It felt _safe_. The light and the song filled her, made her feel whole, made her feel special. She turned a little dancing step as she moved along, arms out, head back.

Along the path were niches carved into the living structure of the maze. In each was a carved statue of something to do with ravens. There were ravens in flight, ravens with wings furled looking gravely forward, and strange figures with the bodies of women but the heads of ravens. She pondered them as she walked but never paused too long. The urge to keep moving was too strong, the pull of the song too great.

_There's something ahead for you, Amelia…. There will be time for all that later. (a rippling little laugh that was a music all its own) Yes. You will have understanding of them later. Come along, Pond…_

She came at last to a great central node of the maze, a place from which three paths branched off into their own turnings. She paused, unsure of where she should go. All the paths seemed to be equally bathed in light, equally filled with song.

Uncertainly, she called out, "Hello? Are you still there? I don't know exactly where I should go now. Can you help me?"

And suddenly, the light and the song were completely gone, plunging Amy into a suffocating darkness.

IV.

Gradually, the Doctor woke. His eyes focused first on the wood of the floor he now lay upon, and relief swamped him as he realized that he was no longer in that room of horror.

_Wherever this is, it has to be better than…_

The slightest shifting scrape of a sole across the floor cut off his thought in midstream, and his gaze snapped to the black boots across the room from him. He followed the dark color upward as it resolved itself into Irial seated in a throne-like chair against the far wall. The High Lord was watching him intently, and the Doctor had the feeling he had been doing so for quite some time.

_Okay. I could be wrong..._.

The Doctor pushed himself up, rolled into a seated position, and stared back at the unmoving Rishellian in front of him.

Irial was the first to break the silence.

"By rights, I should have you slain publicly in the square of the Citadel on some bright noon in the not-too-distant future, Doctor. You are now a criminal by the laws of my people. I name you spy. An ally of the dragon nation. Enemy of the High Lords of Rishell."

The Doctor smiled.

"Ah, Irial…. Pots and kettles, pots and kettles. Don't forget I've seen your little…experiment…downstairs. Your hands aren't exactly as lily-white as they look, are they? Last time I checked, what you're up to is also a killing offense…"

The High Lord's expression twisted, changed. He leaned forward, spoke fervently. "What I do there, I do for my people, for the return of glory and honor to the Rishellian Empire…"

The Doctor cut him off. "What you do there, you do for your own power and glory. Don't dress it up in fancy clothes and pretend otherwise."

Irial exploded out of his chair, strode impatiently to the chamber's window. "Never! It has never been for me! I only seek…"

The Doctor stood as well, slowly pulling himself to his feet, leaning for a moment against a table for support as the last of the weakness trickled away. "You seek to become the Raven King, a thing that has not been seen on this world in more than two thousand years. An office that was destroyed, named abomination by your people, because of the corruption of the soul that was an integral part of wielding its power…."

Irial turned, his silver eyes flashing. "You know nothing. Nothing! I have safeties and securities in place. _I_ shall not fall into the darkness. _I_ shall reclaim the ancient knowledge, and Rishell shall rise again in victory and strength!"

The Doctor laughed softly, derision lacing the sound.

Irial stepped closer to him. "Should I leave the ruling of my people in the hands of my sister, Doctor? Should I place the wellbeing of this world on her? She is not capable of rule. She is not capable of greatness or honor…."

"And what honor have you found in your quest, Raven Lord? What power?"

"Power enough to bring back the days of old, the glory of the Empire of Rishell. Power enough to bend the Ways to our will." He paused, his voice dropped, hissed, "Power enough even to snare a Lord of Time."

For a moment, the Doctor simply stared back at the impassioned face before him. Then, softly, almost gently, he spoke again. "And what of the cost? Because there is always, always one. That is the truest thing in all the known worlds, Irial. No power comes free, and the greater the prize, the higher the cost…."

Irial froze, and the anger fell away from him, confusion suddenly there as he turned away. "It had to be done. It was made clear to me…. They understand, and they…they… _forgive_... As I am sure that when she knows, _she_ will forgive…"

Something in the way Irial said "she" made the Doctor's instincts flare. "As who will forgive you?" When the High Lord refused to answer or even to meet his gaze, the Doctor seized his shoulders and shook him hard. An overwhelming sense of dread filled the Doctor's hearts.

"As WHO will forgive you, you ruddy elf? Tell me what you've done. Where is Amelia?"

Irial's eyes met the Doctor's at long last, and a despair bordering on madness swirled there as his hands came up to clutch at the Doctor.

"The Maze took her. I could not stop it. It took her, Doctor, and now she will complete the Three."

V.

The darkness surrounding Amy was complete. Not even the stars, so bright in the sky above her until a moment ago, broke the blackness. Amy could hear her own breathing and the distant, quiet sound of wind through leaves, but the song that had enchanted her, drawn her on, was gone.

"Hello?" she called softly. "Is anybody there?"

_Suddenly, walking through this maze doesn't seem like such a fabulous idea…._

A light appeared to break the gloom, a soft glowing point of light in the middle of the clearing that grew into a large orb. One of the lightbearing statues she had seen so frequently in the Citadel stood before her. It had not been here a moment ago, she was sure. The place had been entirely empty. She walked over to it and peered up at its stone features.

The light-giving orb was supported by three of the raven-headed women figures she'd seen throughout the maze. Their clothing was incredibly detailed. She walked around the grouping studying them, tracing her fingers over the carved stone patterns in the fabric that draped them. She noticed one of the statues had been damaged. It was headless. There was something disturbing about its graceful body and upraised arms standing there with no head on its shoulders.

A rustling noise behind her made her turn suddenly. The paths that had led out of this node were gone. She spun, heart pounding, as she looked at the unbroken wall of green that encircled her. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and cleared her suddenly-tight throat.

"Okay…you said you had something you wanted to tell me. Are you going to do that now?"

_Stupid, Amy, really, really stupid to have come in here…. Stupider still to think that now any good is going to come of… _

The sound of stone scraping against stone made her jump, turn hastily back to the statue, memories of Angels filling her mind. The headless raven-woman now supported the orb with only one hand. The other pointed at the portion of the hedge maze wall just in front of her. Amy studied her with a growing unease.

"Well, I guess that's an answer, but I'm not sure exactly what kind, I mean it's not as though there's anything there…."

Bright light washed across the clearing, casting sharp shadows. Amy looked at it, shielding her eyes with her hand as her vision adjusted to the intensity. Then her hand fell away as she drew in a surprised breath. Her feet moved without her thinking about it toward the shining white circular portal that now broke the green leafy wall and the glorious beauty that was just beyond it.

VI.

He felt the rage within him combust, a holocaust begging to be released, channeled, used to destroy that which had taken that which was His. Part of him wanted to wrap his hands around the throat of the Rishellian standing stricken before him and _end him_. It would be so easy, take so little effort on his part, and it would feel _so righteously good_…. Some tiny logical part of his mind, still functioning due to centuries of hard training, stood sentinel, whispering warnings.

_*We need him yet. Without him, we cannot reclaim that which is Ours….*_

With the greatest of control, the Doctor forced himself to release Irial. His hands came up to fold around the lapels of his own tweedy jacket to keep them from flying back to the one who had taken his world from him, and he turned and stepped away.

"I need you to tell me everything, Irial. What is this Three you speak of? What exactly is this Maze that is capable of taking Pond?"

Irial's wide eyes came to meet the Doctor's. His face twisted into a mask of despair as he started to laugh.

"Trying to fix it all again? I should let you….I should let you… But it can't be done! Don't you see? It was never supposed to be her. It was always going to be Ainfean!"

"Stop. This isn't helping. You must tell me…"

"Tell you what? Words are useless. Action is futile. She will complete the Three, and They will rise. No proper preparation has been made. They will be impossible to channel, impossible to control…"

The Doctor crossed the small distance separating them, seized the High Lord again, and forced him to face him. "This. Isn't. Helping. You are standing between me and my Mate, and that, Irial, is the most dangerous place in all of time and space to be just now. Tell me what you know."

Irial collapsed in on himself, his fury and his fear drained suddenly. He began to speak.

"For two hundred years, Doctor, I have followed the path set for me by my father and his father before him. I have sought the old ways, chased the powers that the High Lords once had. My house has had but one goal, to restore the might of the Raven King to this world so that he might in turn bring back the days of glory for our people."

"But your people did not want the Raven King. Siofra told me that they hunted down the last Rishellian to claim that title and ripped him apart in the streets for his crimes…."

Irial shook his head. "That is true, but that happened only because…. It would not have happened again. And my people languish and decay under the Empresses. Only the might of the Raven King could destroy the rot at the core of Rishell, cut it out so that what remains can endure, rebuild, grow." There was iron conviction in his voice. The Doctor made no move, merely listened.

Irial continued, "It was during my father's time that the Maze was rediscovered. The old legends and clues my grandfather had chased at last yielded fruit. My father was the birth-brother of the Empress Siofra and acted as I do for Ainfean as her chamberlain. When he told her what he had discovered, she came herself to see it. This estate was in ruins. The forest had reclaimed everything. The raven statues still framed an opening in the tangled hedges, though, and when he first saw them, he had known. Siofra feared the old tales might be true, and she gave orders for the ravens to be pulled down by any means possible, for the entrance to be somehow sealed, but my father, he knew what had to be done.

"He had been searching for the old power for so long, had inherited the hunt from his own father. He could not allow it to be lost, for the potential benefit to all of Rishell to be taken just because of old superstitions. He and the Empress were alone in the glade. He maneuvered her around to stand just in front of the opening, and then he grabbed her and forced her in.

"Almost instantly, just as you have seen tonight, the great wings dropped and sealed her in. My father told me that for a time, she beat upon the stone wings that barred her passage, cried out for someone, anyone to save her. She cried out for him…. Then there was silence. Then the music began…

"He always said that next came something like an earthquake, his senses reeled. When he was in control of his faculties again, the great keep had rebuilt itself somewhat, the forest had receded from the edges of the maze. The singing still filled the air, and he saw just for a moment, the wings of the ravens shift. Siofra was standing there staring out at him, but she was no longer the sister-queen he knew. She was pale even for one of our kind, dressed completely in white, and she simply stared at him for a time with complete lack of recognition. Then she laughed and said, "Accepted. I am One," and turned to walk away down the inner paths of the Maze.

"From that day, my father found that he was growing in power. That he could hear the thoughts of those around him. That he could enter their dreams…. All the powers of the legendary Raven King seemed to be blossoming in him, weakly. The tales, it seemed, were true. And as it became clear that Siofra was gone, his strength facilitated the rise of my branch of the family to the throne."

The Doctor had been silent. "He sacrificed his own sister, sacrificed Siofra, for a few mental party tricks? Siofra was good and wise and noble. She genuinely cared for her people. She deserved better than that…" His heart ached at the thought of the brilliant woman he had known and cared for, of her fear and terror….

Irial gave a bitter smile. "Yes. I had forgotten that you…knew…her when last you were on Rishell. All power demands payment, Doctor. Aren't you the very one who told me that? It was nothing he did lightly. He felt her _become_, and it almost drove him mad. And yet, now he had the power to foresee, to guide the Empire in all it did, and he did this diligently until the day his foresight showed him his time was at an end.

"Then it became my turn to carry the banner, the burden…." He fell silent, some memory sitting heavily on him.

"How did the power pass to you, Irial?" The Doctor's soft voice broke his reviere.

"In the only way such power can be passed. Through another payment…"

And he told the rest of the tale. When he was done, he covered his face with his hands and wept.

The Doctor stood silent, his mind spinning the pieces of the tale he'd received, looking for a solution. Suddenly, he turned and headed for the door. Irial looked up at him, eyes glazed and hopeless.

"I'm going to need you to take me out to the Maze now. Amy will be waiting, and she's never been known for her patience."

VII.

Through the alabaster gate was a garden with every flower in full bloom. A distant sound like windchimes chimed softly through the twilight air. The little motes of light that had been Amy's guides and companions swirled in little eddies here and there.

Around the edges, more light bearing figures held aloft their glowing orbs. The golden radiance fell on three odd, large, smooth rectangular pedestals placed evenly around the perimeter of the garden. Amy could see carvings on the sides of two of them, what seemed to be a storyline in carved relief. The third was completely smooth. She lightly trailed her fingers along the smooth cool stone as she bent to inspect them. On the top of each was the carved outline of a body making the pedestals seem almost like a bed of stone for an invisible sleeper. Amy frowned as she rubbed her fingertip against the groove. A feeling of unease resurrected itself.

_These seem like…like…_

A noise like a sigh from across the garden made her whirl, and upon the pedestal across from her lay a woman in a white gown, long red-gold hair flowing across the stone.

"Okay. You weren't there a minute ago. I _know_ you weren't there a minute ago…" Amy stepped cautiously toward the still figure.

A soft murmuring came to her ears and the wind stirred heavily through the trees. Slowly, all the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, she turned to find another woman lying on the pedestal just behind her. She, too, was dressed in white, her thick black hair a curling cloud around her serene face.

Amy backed up, eyes darting back and forth between the two stones. Step by step, she slowly edged away from both of them only to have her fingers intercept the cold rounded edge of some obstruction just before she collided with it. A large round stone table with three chairs positioned in alignment with the three pedestals had materialized in the center of the garden. Amy circled it trying to keep the sleeping women in her sight, continued to back away.

Suddenly, she bumped into something large, hard, waist-high. The third pedestal, the blank one. She clutched the edge reflexively as her hand touched it and heard a soft sigh in the air. It was as if the entire garden had released a breath in satisfaction. Glancing back to the center of the garden again, she saw that the two women were now sitting up, stiff as though they were truly only life-like carvings. She tried to open her fingers from the stone, but she suddenly found that she could not break the contact.

In panic, Amy pulled desperately, but as she fought the strange connection that had formed, she became aware of an insidious music filling the air. It was heartrendingly lovely, and she stopped to listen to it for a moment. There were voices inside it…

"_Aren't you tired, Amelia Pond? Aren't you tired? Come and rest, little Amy. Come and rest. We've a bed just for you, and your rest will be long and full…."_

Amy found her eyes starting to close, an overwhelming need for sleep enveloping her. She fought it, but she felt her body surrendering to the magic in the song.

"_Just a little lie down. Just the tiniest rest. And your bed is ready and waiting for you, Amelia. Don't fight it…don't fight us, sister… You are Three, and we are whole…"_

Amy slumped forward, collapsing across the pure white surface. As she felt herself rising, turning, gently laid down, as she felt the cold stone press firmly against her back, her mind slipped under the warm tide. She murmured, "Doctor…" and the world faded.

VII.

The Doctor stood with Irial in front of the twin raven statues. He was scanning them with his sonic screwdriver, looking at the readings, shaking his head. Irial sat on a bench nearby, slumped in defeat, eyes staring off into nothingness.

The Doctor swore. "There has to be a way. The Maze is still there. Pond is inside. There has to be a way! No door is eternally locked…." A flickering memory of a planet with red skies and silver trees forever lost surfaced. He pushed it away hard.

_Not this time. This is Amy. I will not lose her, too…._

Dry, harsh, broken laughter greeted the Doctor's proclamation. He heard Irial's feet shift restlessly in the gravel.

"I've already told you. Once they have her, they will make her one of the Three. She will complete them, and then the triple goddess will rise. She will devour all who oppose her. So it was in the days of old."

Another voice, deep, calm, came from the darkness. "Yes. So it was. And so the wise of Rishell and the wise of the dragonkind made sure that even though the place of power itself could not be destroyed that all the Ways and Gates to it were sealed and that none of those the goddess had claimed were of use to her."

The Dragon King silently trod across the gravel. Not one of his steps yielded a sound. He gazed at the Doctor, turned his head to consider Irial.

"It took every resource we had. Every bit of skill, technology…magic..., but finally we forced the power back into its resting place, disconnected every Way from it, set guards against it calling those it needed. And the office of the Raven King, the fools who had sought to enslave a goddess, was abolished. And for a long, long time, there was peace and safety."

"You knew of this place, then." It was a statement.

The Dragon King reached out and brushed a long finger against the plinth at the base of one great raven. Irial made a noise of warning, but the Dragon King continued to trace an invisible pattern there. If he felt the powerful shock that Irial had received earlier, he gave no sign.

"Yes. I was among those who fought to close it the first time. My skills were among those that bound the goddess into her sleep."

"And you knew that Amy…that she was here in this place. With this danger. And you did not see fit to tell me?" Dangerous, dangerous the stillness and reason in that voice.

The Dragon King turned to look at the Doctor. He sighed heavily. "Yes. I knew. I knew the goddess was restless. I knew that some fool," and here he glanced at Irial, "had begun to toy with the power in the heart of the Maze. But Doctor, I swear to you by the trillanium heart of the Dragon of the Morning that I had no idea your lady could become a part of this."

The Doctor studied the solemn masklike face before him, and finally he nodded. "Okay. Okay. But tell me this. You said that you and yours knew of Ways into the Maze?"

The Dragon King nodded slowly. "We did…we….do."

Irial made a sound of frustration and despair behind them.

"All of them have been destroyed or closed, though."

The Doctor gave a grim smile. "That which is closed can be re-opened, can it not?"

A pause. Then a cautious bob of the head. "Perhaps. Perhaps with great effort."

Irial rose to his feet. "It will do you no good! When she reaches the heart of the Maze, the goddess will take her. Then we will all die!"

The Dragon King spun to face him, teeth bared. "And you tell me how it came to be that only one was needed to complete the rising? We left three empty biers. THREE. How is it that now she lies almost ready to wake, _Raven Lord_? Did you really think you could control her?"

"I did. I was. She was under my power! We have planned. We have prepared for three hundred years to understand her, to bind her…"

The Dragon King turned away. "Fool," he spat. "Only a High Lord could ever be as arrogant as that. She has used you, King of Fools, used you to get her freedom. You were never in control."

The Doctor suddenly stiffened. "Amy…" he murmured, and he stumbled forward as if he would push his way through the barrier of the stone wings.

The Dragon King moved faster than sight, faster than thought, and caught his wrist gently, firmly, before he could touch the obsidian stone. The Doctor shoved at him, but the dragon simply continued to hold him.

"Let me go. You must let me go. I can hear her. She is calling me…."

"No, friend. I cannot let you go until you are in control of yourself again. If you are to do your Mate any good, you must _get control_."

The Doctor became still. The wildness left his eyes. He raised his hands and gently patted the dragon on the shoulder. The Dragon King released him.

"Thank you for that," he murmured, turning away.

The Dragon King shifted but said nothing.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and turned back. "So. We have to go and open door that's sealed shut, do we?"

"Just so," agreed the Dragon King.

"Well, it's good for us all that I happen to be an expert lock picker, then. Time to get cracking. Where might this door be?"

The Dragon King's face split into a most unpleasant smile. "Guess."

VIII.

Amy's world snapped back into place suddenly. She was sitting at the great stone table, a feast of fruits and dainties spread before her. There was food on a silver plate in front of her, and apparently she had been eating although she could not remember the taste of a single morsel. The folds of her white dress draped gracefully across her wide stone chair; a white linen napkin lay in her lap.

_Wait. How did I? When did…What happened to me? I was standing by the stone pedestal and suddenly it… _A shiver of fear traced up her spine, a thin finger of panic making icy shapes there.

"Ah, our sleepy-headed sister has finally awoken. You were dozing at the dinner table, dearest. How tired you must have been!"

Amy's eyes snapped across the table to take in the women in the other two chairs at the table. They looked so familiar to her. She couldn't place them, but she knew them…didn't she?

"Silly sister. You should never have waited so long to come home! What a journey you had."

_I did? Did I? I traveled…. Where did I go? _

One of the women, stunning with her red-gold hair flaming in the light of the orbs, reached out and poured something out of an elaborate teapot into a handleless cup. The liquid was dark, slightly viscous.

"It took you so long to get here, but now you are home. With your sisters. Exactly where you belong." She held out the delicate steaming cup, and Amy took it in reflex, murmuring thanks.

The other woman, her long black hair hanging in heavy curls down her back, smiled. The action brought out dimples in her smooth cheeks and crinkled her silver eyes. She took up her teacup and raised it in a toast.

"To our sister Amelia, who has come home where she belongs at last to complete our little family."

The red-gold girl raised her cup, and both of them stared at Amy.

Some small part of her wanted to tell them that she wasn't their sister, that she didn't have any idea of what they were talking about, that she had no desire to drink the dark liquid that steamed now in her cup.

_Shouldn't be rude, dearest. Should just drink the cup when it comes. Never refuse the Cup, dearest…._

Dizziness washed over Amy, and as if someone else was directing her actions, she saw her hand raise her cup to match the others, and then she was drinking down the contents of the little vessel. It flowed across her tongue, down her throat, thick, hot, metallic… And then she was screaming…

* * *

**Hope this update does what you all thought would happen next justice. I know I didn't tell you all of Irial's story. I'm going to let you see if you can guess until I can get another update done. I hope you liked it enough to review…**


	38. Chapter 38

**It's been so long, and yet you are still there, still wanting to know how it's all going to end. I cannot believe the incredible patience you've all had with me. The notes you send me reminding me that you still read, still look forward to whatever is next completely humble me. I cannot promise that I will end it this chapter. I will not promise that I will be able to write fast. I will promise you that there WILL be an ending. It is the only thing I can give to all of you who have, like Amy, waited.**

* * *

Oh mama don't leave me alone

with my soul sat down so tight it's like a stone cold tomb

Ain't it clear when I'm near you

I'm just dying to hear you

Calling my name one more time

Oh so don't pay no mind

To my watering eyes

Must be something in the air

That I'm breathing

Yes'n I try to ignore

All this blood on the floor

It's just this heart on my sleeve that's a bleeding

"Burn" ~ Ray Lamontagne

* * *

I.

The Doctor looked at the Dragon King for long moments. Then he sighed impatiently, running his hand through his hair.

_Of course it means going back there. Of course it means the Citadel of the Moon. Of course we're just going in great bloody circles. Of course. _

"Right. Had to happen, I suppose. Let's get on with it, shall we?"

The Dragon King said nothing, but raised his hand and lazily drew a circle with his long, slender index finger. The portal immediately shimmered into being. The Doctor turned and looked over his shoulder at Irial. The High Lord's expression was one of pure hungry covetousness as he studied the shifting emptiness of the portal. The Dragon King, finished now with the portal's construction, followed the Doctor's gaze, and as he took in the hunger in Irial's eyes, his silver features molded themselves into a smile that had no humor in it at all.

Irial shifted lightly, moving his weight more firmly onto the balls of his feet. His hands fell loosely at his sides, one coming to rest with contrived casualness on the hilt of the large curving dagger he wore at his waist.

The Dragon King's smile somehow managed to grow even wider, expose even more perfect curving teeth. The fingers on both hands moved slowly, and the movement might have been meaningless but for the brief, brilliant sparks of flame-colored light that followed each gesture.

The Doctor growled. "Hello? HELLO? Amelia? The Triple Bloody Goddess or whatever she is? End of the world? Gentlemen, we simply do not have time for this right now."

Neither the High Lord nor the Dragon King seemed willing to break the confrontation of gazes first, but then the Doctor stepped between them. "No. TIME. Do you hear me? NO. TIME." There was something very like desperation in his tone.

Both beings looked away, visibly resettled themselves. The Dragon King focused on the Doctor. "You are right, Doctor. Such other….concerns….as we have can wait. The portal and all that is beyond it await." He bowed, waving the other two toward the shimmering gate, and this time, no trails of fire accompanied the movement.

Irial made no comment. He walked past the other two into the rift and disappeared instantly. The Doctor and the Dragon King exchanged a long look. Then the Doctor rolled his shoulders as if to loosen tension there.

"Right. Here we go then."

And he stepped into the gate.

II.

Everything spun unpleasantly, and then the Doctor found himself stumbling as he went from something made of gossamer and light to something heavy with slightly uneven stone paving under his feet. He caught himself against the damp surface of a stone wall and tried to calm the nausea that surged in waves through him.

Moments later, the Dragon King appeared. He had not been there a second before, but he winked into existence as though that space had always been his. He immediately came to the Doctor's side and placed his hand on the Doctor's back in what could have been interpreted as a gesture of support. The instant the long platinum fingers pressed against the Doctor, the rolling nausea and disorientation abated. It was as though a switch had been thrown. He looked around, straightening his bowtie and his jacket lapels. Irial stood a few feet away watching the Doctor's recovery with an unreadable expression on his face.

The Dragon King rested his hand on the Doctor a moment longer, and it seemed that he was satisfied with what he saw. With a small grunt, he nodded and his hand disappeared again as his voluminous sleeves slipped back into place.

The Doctor looked around the chamber as best he could in the light that feebly illuminated a tall staircase winding upwards gracefully behind them only to end abruptly at the ceiling. It was impossible to determine the source of the glow at first, but gradually he recognized that it was coming from some of the stones themselves, something like starlight leaking out here and there from some of the huge blocks composing the walls. He knew that above him stretched the huge Citadel of the Moon with all its thousands of inhabitants and visitors. In this place, however, everything was tomb silent.

_Not going to keep going down *that* particular thought path…._

He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew his sonic screwdriver, a small flick of his thumb bringing it to life to give a beam of light that did little to penetrate the thick dark cloaking them.

Irial looked askance at the instrument in the Doctor's hands, and the Doctor opened his mouth to defend his beloved tool when he heard a soft snort on his other side.

"Alright, then. Let's see one of you two do better."

Irial's eyebrow raised, and a sardonic smile turned up the corners of his lips.

"If you insist."

He reached into his pocket and removed a small crystal. He held his other hand over it for a moment like a show magician, and then he suddenly snapped his fingers. The crystal was now a ball of blue light balanced on his palm. He drew it to his lips and gently blew on it, and the circumference of the glowing orb expanded. Their small group was encased in a pool of light.

The Dragon King laughed. "Good, but again, somehow not quite adequate to our task if it is what I think it is, elf."

Irial scowled. "I have the discipline to maintain it for as long as it is needed."

The Dragon King made no reply. He had walked over to the darkness beneath the staircase and was rummaging around in something he'd found there. Irial's irritated expression deepened.

"You doubt me, dragon? I have trained since I was a child to wield the _anam cloch…"_

His words were cut off as green fire exploded through the darkness. At first, the brilliance of it was blinding, and both the Doctor and Irial reflexively shielded their eyes from the blast. When they could see again, the Dragon King was standing before them with three lit torches in his large hands. Their regular orange flames drove back the gloom as he handed one to Irial and one to the Doctor. Irial looked intensely irritated as he closed his fingers over the glowing crystal and its light died. The Doctor simply chuckled as he tucked away his own screwdriver. He studied the Dragon King with distinct interest.

"So that one's true, too, eh?"

The Dragon King slid his eyes to the Doctor and from the corners of his smile curled the faintest wisps of smoke. "Indeed."

"Some kind of exothermic reaction I suppose? How do you ignite…."

The Dragon King's gently shook his head. "Later, my friend. Later. For now, I think the more pressing matters lie there…." He pointed at the door at the far end of the chamber. In the steady illumination of the torches, the Doctor could see two all-too-familiar black stone birds on either side of it.

"Alright. Here we go, then."

III.

They approached the door cautiously. Something about the birds was disquieting. Maybe it was the way they seemed to watch the small group approach. Maybe it was the way they seemed to move ever so slightly whenever one had to blink. Maybe it was the way the black stone from which they'd been carved seemed to suck in the light hungrily, no reflection coming from any curve or facet. By the time they reached the door, none of them could pretend the heads of the birds weren't turned and watching them, that the wings were still smooth and calm against the stone ravens' sides.

For a moment, the trio simply stood staring at the menacing statues. Then the Doctor sighed.

"Right. My turn then, is it? Hello boys or girls, whichever the case may be. Excuse me. I'm just going to try a little something here…."

As he'd been chattering, he'd slowly slid closer to the door, removing his sonic screwdriver again in the process. He extended it toward the huge iron lock and moved to press the activation switch when suddenly the Dragon King's big hand wrapped in the Doctor's tweed jacket and yanked him backwards.

The Doctor spun to see a sharp black stone beak now occupied the place where just moments ago his head had been. The other was angled low, as though to rip upwards through the soft tissues of the belly.

"Hm. Not going to be as easy as that, I suppose. No. Never is." He looked at Irial and the Dragon King. "Ideas, chaps?"

The Dragon King looked past him and subtly tilted his head toward the door. When the Doctor looked, the birds had both resumed their upright position, almost as they'd been when the little group first approached them, but now their heads were unmistakably turned toward Irial. As for Irial himself, he was staring back at them with an expression of tortured loathing on his face. The Dragon King and the Doctor exchanged glances.

"Yes," murmured the Doctor. "Yes. Let's try that, then."

IV.

"This is not a sound stratagem." Irial's voice was full of barely-leashed fury.

"Oh, come now. While they're obviously here to guard the door, I think they have a rather more active interest in you at the present."

They'd tested the theory by having Irial walk from one side of the chamber to the other. The eerie stone gaze of the birds had followed him. He'd stepped closer to them, and they'd suddenly been in a position to lunge, beaks open, wings mantled.

"It's not _that_ I argue," Irial said, glaring at the Dragon King.

The Doctor sighed impatiently, "Look. If I could see them moving like he does, I'd be the one holding the rope. But since I can't and unless you'd like to be their dinner companion…"

Irial laughed bitterly. "Why would I trust you any more than I do him? No. I think you would both be all too content to let me be the bait on the hook, the sacrifice necessary to achieve your goals. I think this is about vengeance."

The Doctor was suddenly standing nose to nose with Irial. "And you find no irony whatsoever in what you've just said, do you? DO YOU? Bait on a hook? The necessary sacrifice?" His teeth were bared in a feral grimace, and he grabbed fistfuls of the High Lord's elegant black doublet. "Don't you even remember her? What you've done to her? Who you've given her to?"

The Dragon King murmured something, and with effort, he released Irial, who stood still, his pale complexion somehow even whiter. He made no reply. The Doctor turned away abruptly and raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in wild disorder.

"No," he said softly. "No." It was louder this time. "I think you'd actually better be quite glad that it's your mortal enemy instead of me manning that rope, Irial."

V.

Irial inched forward until the stone birds started to change their positions. What happened next happened quickly. Irial's face hardened, and with a cry, he lunged forward as though he would ram the door with his shoulder. Suddenly, he was flying through the air like a yoyo recalled to its owner's hand, and the ravens were away from the door, wings out, beaks open, frozen in pursuit. Irial dashed back toward them as if he planned now to leap over them, and once again, he was pulled to safety with a mighty tug from behind him. Now the obsidian statues were halfway across the room as they tried to capture the source of their fury.

The Doctor slid along the wall behind them and quickly pointed the sonic screwdriver at the lock once more.

"Don't fail me now," he murmured as the piercing buzz of the tool joined the sound of the eerie pursuit behind him.

VI.

The raven on the left noticed the Doctor's activities first. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at one moment, and both statues were in their strange invisible pursuit of Irial who was still being forced to fly through the air rather unceremoniously as the Dragon King used the rope around his waist to keep him from danger. The next time he looked around, though, one of the birds was staring back at him.

He shuddered. _Damn things are entirely too much like the Angels for my comfort…._

"Well, that can't be good," he whispered. He jiggled the sonic futilely. "Come on, will you? Just come on!" The green light of the screwdriver flickered as though it were irritated by his rough handling of it. From inside the big iron lock, a grinding and reluctant movement of metal on metal could be heard, and the Doctor laughed in surprise and happiness.

"Doctor!" The cry from the Dragon King made him look back over his shoulder, and now that left raven was more than halfway back to him. If the lock didn't open momentarily, he was going to know up close and personally exactly how sharp its black stone beak really was. He reached down and pounded on the door handle frantically, and to his great surprise, with the squeal of rusted metal, the massive door swung open in front of him.

VII.

He leaped across the threshold and promptly stumbled over an unseen obstacle and landed facedown. From behind him came a sound like massive slabs of stone grinding against each other. He quickly rolled over, pointing his sonic screwdriver toward the door, and was just in time to see the raven that had been pursuing him shudder massively and crumble into a fine black sand.

He lay panting for a long moment until he heard the sound of the Dragon King's voice calling his name.

"Doctor? Doctor? Are you okay?"

"Absolutely fantastic. And you?"

The light from the Dragon King and Irial's reclaimed torches filtered into the room, and the flickering glow illuminated multiple gilt frames on every wall. The two entered, Irial slipping the wicked blade of his curving dagger beneath the rope still around his waist to remove it. The Dragon King looked around slowly and sighed as an almost imperceptible whisper darted from frame to frame like a very subtle wind rustling leaves on distant trees. Every painting in this room was a waygate.

"I've probably had better days, to be honest," the Dragon King said, reaching down to offer the Doctor a hand.

"Join the club," replied the Doctor, wincing as he came to his feet.

VIII.

"It couldn't just be obvious which one we want, could it? I mean just once, it couldn't be lit up with neon or a big flashing yellow arrow or have a marching brass band in front of it or something?"

The Doctor's mood was foul. They'd been looking over the paintings for quite some time now trying to find the hidden backdoor into the Maze. He restlessly turned his attention to another frame hoping that this one might be the one he needed.

He was trying not to think about what might be happening to Amy. As long as he was moving, doing, plotting, scheming, he was mostly okay. But when he stopped, when the wheels of his mind began to turn, all he could think about was that last surge he'd felt, the sickening silence inside him where she should be….

He forcibly redirected his thoughts.

_No. I'd know it if….if… I'd know. If she were gone, really irretrievably gone, it would all be over. I have to keep that in mind. _

Irial and the Dragon King were arguing over something on the other wall, but it didn't register with him.

_They say that while there's life, there's hope. Of course, the universe has been teaching me that so many of the grand old clichés are riddled with falsehood, so…. That one, though, I'm going to believe until I'm proven wrong. I choose the hope. Because without it…._

The hand holding his torch gripped tighter.

_Because there is no 'without it.' Because there can be no without her. Because…._

The Dragon King's voice cut through his increasingly frantic thoughts.

"Doctor. I think we've found it."

IX.

They three of them stood looking at a painting of a formal garden. A table had been laid in the middle of an area paved with white stones or shells. What looked for all the world to be high tea was spread across the table, and three chairs were waiting for the guests to claim them.

Since it was a waygate, out of the corners of one's eyes the tablecloth moved ever so slightly in a wayward breeze. A leaf from one of the tall trees at the edge of the painting fell and spiraled down to rest on the otherwise spotless green lawn surrounding the shell/stone paving.

"What are you seeing that makes you so sure?" the Doctor asked.

Irial pointed to a decorative statue standing at a branching of the path that seemed to lead out of the place with the tea table. "I have seen these lightbearers in the maze near its heart. Unless they exist elsewhere, this will take us there."

The Dragon King nodded. "I have also seen them when we entered to seal the Triple Goddess in before. And then there is this…" He traced subtle patterns on the frame, but the Doctor noticed that he did not allow his skin to touch the gilded wood.

"This is in the old language of my people. It names the place as hers."

"Here's something I've been wondering. Why are these things here instead of in the keeping of your people? Didn't you say that your lot had taken all these back that you possibly could?"

The Dragon King's hand paused, and he sighed. "Yes. All that we could." He looked at Irial, and there was something tired in his expression. "This gate cannot be moved. Some of the earliest waygates were created in this crude fashion. They are permanently attached to two points. To try to take this gate from this place would destroy it."

"But if everyone was so frightened of the Triple Goddess rising again, why didn't everyone take all precautions to get rid of access to her, including destroying this gate?"

"It was not as simple as that. You have been only in the stable portions of the Ways. I told you that they could not be destroyed, that the damage done by them could not be corrected." The Dragon King looked away, out into the chamber beyond and the piles of black sand. The Doctor had the feeling that he wasn't really seeing any of it, though.

"We tried, Doctor. In the beginning, when the Rishellians and other races began to try to use the Ways against us, we tried. We knew that it was dangerous, especially when it came to those first paths, the crudest of our creations, but desperation will bring a people to try all sorts of things..."

The Dragon King seemed to gather himself from some painful memory before continuing.

"We found that it was better to leave be what was and fight in other ways. This gate," he said, pointing to the frame before them, "is one of the oldest I have ever seen. It must have been one of the first. You can see the warning here, though, if you read the script. Something hungry was waiting on the ones who used it, something ancient and terrible and beautiful and endlessly hungry. We barricaded it off, posted warnings, and abandoned it. When the Rishellians took this place and made of it the beginnings of their own fortress, we saw to it that this place was sealed shut. None of them even know it is here."

"And you lot put up those ravens as part of the protection?"

The Dragon King raised his eyes, eyebrows arched in surprise at the question. "No, Doctor. We had absolutely nothing to do with them. But it doesn't take much guesswork to figure out who did…."

The Doctor looked at the innocuous tea scene before him on the canvas and sighed.

"Right. Well. Something in there that even dragons are afraid of. Something hungry and ancient and dangerous. Be all that as it may, Pond is also in there. And that means there's really only one thing left to say."

Irial and the Dragon King both looked at him.

"Geronimo."

* * *

**Please don't throw things. It took me a very long time to get them there. There will be more, and I will try very hard not to make you wait so long for it. I hope you enjoyed the story line moving forward even a tiny little bit, even if there was no Amy at all. She's coming back. Trust me. Oh, boy, is she ever coming back….**


	39. Chapter 39

_I love you  
I love you anyhow  
And I don't care  
If you don't want me  
I'm yours right now_

You hear me  
I put a spell on you  
Because you're mine

"_I Put a Spell on You" ~ Nina Simone_

* * *

I.

Amy wakes up with a start. Her eyes dart around the small room but take in very little of its sparse furnishings. For a moment, she simply lies on the bed staring at the white wall, heart racing as she tries to get her bearings.

_I know this place…don't I? I've been here before. This is…_

From some unspecified place outside this chamber, the noise of a hammer against stone can be heard. It isn't the tiny tap of a chisel sculpting; someone somewhere is slamming a heavy tool against uncooperative rock with furious intensity. She knows somehow that this sound is _wrong, _but she does not know why she knows this. She puts her hands over her face and is perfectly still. Then she forces herself up and to the window to see what there might be to see.

She has no idea how long she's been shut up in this tower or even any idea of how she got inside it in the first place. There is no logic to this space. It has no door, the round walls of the tower broken only by the window that overlooks the great courtyard of the castle. There are no bars on the windows; none are necessary. Even if she strung together all the bedding, she'd still be ridiculously high off the ground.

For just one moment, memory flickers and it seems that the tower wasn't always so high, that she'd actually _done just that…_remembers the terror of the ground spinning below as she moved hand-over-hand downward….

Then it's gone.

She sees a pile of odd little wooden men. They slump lifelessly in a haphazard pile in a corner of the courtyard like game pieces swept carelessly from the board by a child's angry hand. They look so familiar to her, and it makes her sad to see them like this. Something about their stillness and brokenness strikes her as wrong.

_They should be…they're supposed to be doing *something*…._

Also wrong are the shadows that coalesce where there is no possibility of shade, take a humanoid form, grapple with the huge stone blocks of the external walls, and then slip away again. In those moments when they cling to the walls, the sounds of hammers on stones ring through the air.

Then there's the castle itself. There's a memory that almost comes through, a certainty that at some point in the past, she knew this place when that horrible light-eating black was not slowly staining the white walls. She's almost certain that at some point she had freedom here, freedom everywhere inside, not just within the still white stones of this tower.

She should remember. She has to remember….

With a sigh, she turns away from the disconcerting sight and crosses the room to sit down at the vanity table there. She takes up the hairbrush, mostly just to give her hands something to do, and as she looks in the mirror while pulling the brush through her long red hair, she notices that things are not quite what they should be here, either. It takes her a moment to catch it. The walls in the reflected room are black, not white. Outside the window, the sky is not a cloudy grey but rather blue-black starlit night.

That's not the worst part.

The Amy who stares back at her is also different in subtle but important ways. The neckline of the gown is lower, deeper. The deep forest green she wears looks much more like black in the reflection. Is that a trace of white through her hair or just reflected glare?

Amy reaches out hesitantly toward the silver surface.

_This is…wrong. There is something wrong here…._

Obediently, the hand of the reflection rises, pauses, starts again in time with Amy's own movements. The fingertips of the reflection press against the glass, stroke lightly across its surface. The face on the other side of the glass turns slightly as Amy's own does revealing the streak of white running through the hair there from temple to tip. As Amy's mouth falls open on a soft cry, as she begins to push away from the lie in the glass instinctively, the expression of the other changes, lips stretching into a smirk, eyes suddenly night-black, and the fingers that had been pressed against the glass are somehow suddenly reaching _right through_ to wrap with cruel strength around Amy's wrist. Short nails bite and draw blood.

_No…NO…._

"NO!" screams Amy, wrenching free and hurling herself backwards off the low stool.

She scrambles inelegantly across the room to huddle in the furthest corner away before she will even look back at the mirror. Panting, she fearfully raises her head in time to see the Other's hand withdrawing gracefully, lazily even, back through the confines of the mirror. Just before the fingertips are encased by the rippling silver again, they give a tiny wave.

Amy buries her head in her lap, eyes tightly closed, struggling for some form of control.

The only sounds are a distant and inexplicable laughter and Amy's harsh breathing.

II.

The Dragon King placed a restraining hand on the Doctor's shoulder.

"Don't you remember my telling you that there would be a price paid to reopen this Way?"

The Doctor scoffed impatiently and gestured toward the pile of sand at the door. "That wasn't the entry fee? Wasn't that enough?"

The Dragon King shook his head, but he seemed to hesitate.

Irial's voice came from across the room where he stood staring into one of the other paintings.

"No. Of _course _it isn't."

The Doctor's entire posture grew rigid. "Explain. Somebody explain right now."

Irial had not turned. The Dragon King remained silent.

"You're supposed to be so awfully _clever._ Don't tell me you haven't figured this out yet?" There was both pain and gloating in Irial's voice.

The Doctor crossed the space to grab him by the shoulder, turn him forcefully to face him.

"Tell me what we do next, Irial, or I swear you will come to understand why they call me the Oncoming Storm…."

Irial shook off the Doctor's hands with an expression of distaste.

"I'll tell you since you seem to need the instruction. And I'll happily tell you why your scaly _friend_ there has suddenly run out of magic and answers both when he's been just brimming with them up til now."

Irial glared at the still figure of the Dragon King.

"As you so recently reminded me, dear Time Lord, all great power comes at a great price. Sealing one of the first portals took great power indeed."

He looked away from the Dragon King and walked to the frame that opened onto the garden and its innocuous table. His hand hovered above the frame as the Dragon King's had done.

"Keeping her in, keeping it sealed is a continual cost. Therefore, this cannot be opened unless someone is willing to pay that price."

The Doctor looked at the Dragon King, and his voice was almost a whisper. "What is the price?"

Irial laughed bitterly, spread his hands wide. "The first part is blood, of course. How do you think the High Lords came to use that power to open other Waygates? We learned it from their _creators_…"

"No! Lies!" hissed the Dragon King, lunging toward Irial.

"We never used bloodkeys to open the Ways. We had no need of it. We made the Ways and the Gates, and we never stooped to such savagery. That filthy device, that _abomination_, is solely of your creation…"

Behind him, his shadow flickered and became something much larger on the uneven stone of the wall. Irial smirked, but his hand fell toward the blade he wore at his hip as the Dragon King put his hands over his face, colors streaming from his fingertips. With obvious effort, he composed himself, his eyes sliding closed as he breathed deeply, and the shadow seemed to melt back to its proper size.

"Remember that we were trying to seal in a goddess. Remember that she was laying waste to _worlds, _and no cost seemed too high to stop her…"

The Doctor shuddered, a memory of what desperation like that could create flashing across his mind, the feeling of his entire people being ripped away from him….

"…and so we set the portal so that the blood of one who passes through it can open it…"

_That isn't so bad. I can heal from that…._

"…but that is not all…."

_It never is, is it?_

"… If he be brave enough to pay the blood price, he must face a test of the mind and the soul."

The Dragon King waved his hands to forestall the question forming in the Doctor's mind. "No. I cannot tell you what form the test takes. The portal was designed to be adaptive, to be something different from each person. I only know that the only being who ever attempted it failed and had his mind destroyed. He raved and screamed until the day he died. There was nothing any of us, any of the magicks we could find could do for him. Whatever you face will be terrible and made just for you..."

The Doctor cleared his throat in the silence that followed. "So to go through the gate, I have to serve myself up as a sacrifice, eh?"

Irial at last turned and looked him straight in the eye. "Exactly," he murmured, and an unpleasant grin slipped slowly across his lips. "The lizards do love their little ironies. The working is only too happy to help you achieve your goal….and give you just enough rope to hang yourself with in the process."

The Doctor turned to the Dragon King. "And there's no way around it?"

The Dragon King shook his head. "None that I know of. And it was not only my kind who wove the working. The consensus was that it should be unbreakable, so all the peoples who fought her contributed something others could not undo."

The Doctor paced and muttered, making vague sketches in the air with the tip of his finger. He ran his hands through his hair several times, and it stood up in every direction. Irial and the Dragon King simply watched.

"Go through the phrasing of the working again for me. Be precise."

"Any who seeks the goddess will pay the two-fold price. Blood of his body shall be his key. The strength of his mind shall turn the lock and allow entrance to She Who Waits."

The Doctor laughed bitterly at that name.

_She Who Waits, eh? Oh, Amy, are we back to this again?_

He suddenly turned back to face them, a grim smile on his face.

"Well, let's get cracking. Apparently, I've got a date with a goddess, and it doesn't do to be late for that sort of thing, generally speaking."

The expressions on his companions' faces could only be described as skeptical. Something of an expectancy hovered on Irial's. The Dragon King's eyes looked terribly sad.

"Oh come on," cried the Doctor, slapping him on his shoulder, "ancient powerful beings, curses and magic paintings that are doors through time and space, blood sacrifices…what could possibly go wrong?"

III.

Every time Amy looks out her window, more of the palace is that flat midnight black. The shadow things outside are more and more solid. In one completely obsidian wall, a single bright blue door shines like a slice of sapphire. She has seen the shadow things mass and surge against that blue, but it never seems to be stained by them in the way that the white walls around it have surrendered.

She knows there is something special about that blue door, something she's supposed to remember about it, but all she can do is stare at it and wonder.

_Vaguest memory of running across the flagstones of the courtyard, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag, feet cut and bleeding, fingertips inches away from touching the blue surface before there was the rushing of wings, before something dark felled her, before something seized her hair and dragged her away screaming….._

Anyway, it's entirely too far away, isn't it? There's no way down from here.

She walks back over to the bed, very conscious not to get too close to the mirrored vanity, and tucks her feet up beneath her. She's so tired. So very, very tired….

IV.

When she wakes up again, her head is lying in someone's lap. Patient hands are sliding a comb through her hair, the feeling soothing. It's like something her mother used to do when Amy was little and felt ill.

Amy keeps her eyes closed and prays for this actually to be home, actually to be her mother's calming hand untangling the knots in her hair and the knots of fear in her heart. Her hand slowly fists into the coverlet, and her heartbeat picks up. She realizes she can hear the sounds of hammers on stone, and they're so very, very close….

"You might as well open your eyes, dearest. I know full well you are awake."

The voice is beautiful, melodious, accented slightly. Amy is seized with a desire to hear it singing….

"Come now, Amelia. Open your eyes. I have something which you need to drink. It will make you feel better….."

There is profound love in that voice, and without thinking about it, Amy opens her eyes obediently. She studies the woman that goes with the voice. Her hair is black, dark as the stones of the walls outside, dark as the shadows that slip and slide through the courtyard. Her profile is sharp but lovely with it. Those eyes are striking, too, once one realizes that they are not hazel at all, but rather so dark as to look black. The confusion on their color comes from the fact that they are shot through somehow with flecks of silver. Amy finds herself disturbed by these sharp eyes. They are somehow hard and hungry. No, this woman would not be considered a classic beauty. It could never be denied, though, that there is something sensual, something compelling about her that takes her beyond a concept as trite as simple "beauty."

The woman has released her hair and is now holding out a cup to her. Amy takes it, looks inside. There is a liquid in it, and suddenly Amy is so _thirsty_….

_There's a reason I shouldn't drink this. There was some reason why. I know there was…._

With a little sound of distress, Amy pushes the cup back into the woman's hands.

"Why are you fighting me so hard, Amelia?"

The beautiful voice is full of sorrow and disappointment. Suddenly, Amy's eyes fill with tears. She doesn't want this woman to be sad because of her, but… That reason she was supposed to resist is just so far away. She shakes her head but says nothing. The soft texture of the woman's black gown brushes her cheek as she moves.

"Think of what I am offering you. I know part of you wants it. It was _made_ for you, will only fit _you_, child. You thirst for it."

When Amy continues to be silent, the comb slides through her hair again and again, then one elegant white hand slowly wraps the length around and around itself until it is like a great coiled red rope but does not pull. While the gesture could be construed as idle, Amy's heart flutters in her chest.

"I do not want to force you to take it, Amy. It is so much better if you choose it yourself, if you don't fight against that which is and must be."

Amy realizes that she's begun to shake, but she still refuses to speak. Hot tears run down her cheeks, and she feels a vague regret that they will damage the rich fabric of the woman's gown. She wants to do what the woman desires, but she knows that she cannot….

The woman sighs deeply and untwists the coil of Amy's hair again, combs it out loose, and lays the comb aside. Amy feels a last gentle stroke through its length, and then the woman murmurs something. That thirst inside Amy sharpens, howls. She licks her lips, feels parched.

The cup is in her hands again, and all she can think of is that what is inside it will make this feeling stop. She raises it to her lips and take a deep swallow. The contents of the cup slide down her throat like honeyed wine. She drinks again. Again. And the liquid inside is gone. Amy feels her eyelids growing heavy. The woman takes the cup from her hands just before Amy would have dropped it.

"Sleep, child. We have yet a little time. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will choose this of your own free will. Sleep…"

And Amy does. Since she is dreaming, she cannot see the change as one by one, several of the snow-white stone blocks composing the walls begin to flicker and darken until they are the same inky black as the woman's dress.

V.

The Doctor stood before the frame studying it one last time. He raised his hand, and then looked back over his shoulder for a moment at the still figures of the Dragon King and Irial. The Dragon King raised his hand solemnly. Irial stood watching impassively.

A smile flickered across the Doctor's face.

"Don't look so sad, friend," he said to the Dragon King. "I'll be back before you can say Jack Robinson, and you can make me more of that tea of yours."

The dragon nodded and tried to smile in return. Perhaps it was just the mask of his features, but it wasn't very convincing….

The Doctor turned back to the framed portal and pressed his hand against the large sigil on its side. He felt the carving bite hungrily into his palm, and everything spun as the world fell out from under his feet.

VI.

Amy wakes up with a start. Her eyes refuse to focus for a moment, and she has to stare at the wall for a moment until they comply.

_I'm supposed to be somewhere…. There's something I am supposed to be doing right now…. Something…_

This has been happening every time she's slept now for…well…she doesn't really know how long. She just knows she can remember waking up with this sense of urgency again and again.

There's something about the wall itself that bothers her, too. One of those strange wrong memories plagues here momentarily, telling her that not so long ago that wall was not all black but was all white instead, that the whole room was the color of those few odd blocks scattered here and there like bleached bones amongst the more comforting darkness of the others.

She drags her legs over the side of the bed and sits with her head in her hands. She feels so ill, nauseous as if she has the flu or a stomach virus. Her mouth is dry, and she thinks about getting up and finding something to relieve her thirst. Every time she tries to leave the bed, though, the world spins nastily. She decides discretion is the better part of valour, and she lies back down.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and an unmeasurable amount of time later, she opens them again as a cool hand slides over her forehead. The woman in black kneels beside her bed, and there is concern in those black-silver eyes.

"You're fighting it too hard, little one. It's going to tear you apart. That time is done. Now, what is must be. Only one thing yet remains."

Amy doesn't really understand. She feels gentle arms lifting her, and she realizes that she and the woman are no longer alone.

Something like panic blossoms in her chest.

_No! They shouldn't be here… They can't… This is supposed to be the safe place…_

Two women in long white gowns stand beside the bed. It is they who have lifted her so carefully, and she struggles to bring their faces into focus. Even though one had strawberry blond curls and the other black, there is a similarity to their features. It might have to do with their eyes….

"Black and silver," Amy murmurs, and she knows there is something important about this, but right now, all she can think about is the fact that she feels so bad and is so suddenly….thirsty….

The two women in white smile at her. One of them pats Amy's arm gently and the other pushes Amy's long hair back. Amy can't express how she knows it, but she feels a tremendous sympathy coming from the two, a bond with them somehow.

"Amelia Pond," murmurs the woman in black, and Amy's attention snaps back to her. Once again, the woman holds out a cup to her, but this time, the vessel looks different. Last night, it was simply a large cup. Now, though, she is offering a pottery chalice, something very old and fragile looking. Amy stares at it without comprehension.

"This is the third time the Cup has come to you, Amelia. This time, you must take it yourself. The laws which bind us say that the third time must be of your own will."

The woman holds the chalice out and waits. Amy makes no move. Inside her, the voices war….

_I shouldn't take it. I can't remember why, but I shouldn't drink that. Something will happen, something…_

_But I'm so thirsty, and I feel better when I drink. And these women are so kind. They wouldn't hurt me. They're like me. And I'm so tired of fighting, so tired of being alone…_

The woman with the red-gold hair gently hugs Amy and whispers, "Drink, little sister. It's time now."

The woman with the black hair smiles, dimples appearing. "Come on, slowpoke! You're keeping everyone waiting." She gestures toward the Cup with her free hand.

And Amy feels a tremendous rush of love for these new sisters. Why *does* she keep putting this off? She feels a little silly and a little embarrassed that she's made such a terrible fuss about….about…well, about something…. She reaches out for the Cup, and all three women murmur encouragement to her. Once the liquid inside touches her lips, the thirst inside her takes over, and she turns up the chalice, quaffing it in three long swallows heedless of the drops of thick red liquid that spill out and streak down her face.

When the chalice is empty, Amy's thirst disappears as if it has never been. Her hands spasm around the Cup before becoming suddenly nerveless and Amy drops it. It disappears before it can hit the floor, simply winking into nothingness. Her mouth works as though she is trying to say something, but no words come out. A cold so intense it burns is filling her body, racing through her veins as though she is being frozen from the inside out. She cannot move, cannot scream, cannot do anything shake as this gale rips through her.

The women in white each take one of her hands, and she convulsively grips them as an anchor. She begins to shake, and it feels like she is coming apart, as if she is going to explode into a million fragments. The woman in black moves forward to wrap her in a strong embrace, and Amy feels like it is the only thing that keeps her from disappearing. Amy's head falls back as the feeling grows, and she's astonished that the others can continue to bear touching her flesh. It feels as though the agony she's in should destroy anyone who comes in contact with it.

Suddenly it ends, and her body goes completely limp. The other three prevent her from falling, supporting her weight for long moments. Suddenly, she sits up and gently pushes away from the others. They release her, watching her expectantly. She raises her head, and when at last she opens her eyes, they are black shot through with silver. As her sisters embrace her, she notices over their shoulders that the last white stone of the chamber walls has faded to black.

_Just as it should be…._

* * *

**Lookit! You didn't even have to wait a whole year for it. Hope you're still with it. **


End file.
